My Only Love Sprung From My Only Hate
by JadedDragon4
Summary: COMPLETE! On a dark night, in a dark corridor, the unthinkable happens . . . and now the lust is unstoppable. Dramione. Rated M for sexual situations. Borderline Lemon. If this is not your cup of tea, please do not read. PLEASE R/R!
1. Chapter 1

My Only Love, Sprung from My Only Hate

_A/N: I thought this fanfiction up one night and blame it on reading too many romance novels. It is fairly tame right now, but it may get a little "smuttier" as the chapters go on. I'm not quite sure yet. But, you can certainly review and let me know if it needs a little more spice, or if it's seasoned just right :). As for ownership . . . I wish I did, but the characters, places, and names are all owned by the brilliant J.K. Rowling. I could only be so lucky. Once again, this does deal with sexual situations. If that is not something that you feel comfortable with, consider this your warning, and do not read any further. If you are like me, and enjoy the occasional smut, then please—continue reading and enjoy. I look forward to hearing your thoughts :) Onward . . . _

**My Only Love Sprung from My Only Hate.**

**Chapter 1**

It was late and the night was dark at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Thick, dark clouds had rolled in over the docile lake and formed a heavy blanket over the stars. However, deep within the walls of the school—in the library—Hermione Granger had no knowledge of the ominous night.

She was deep in thought; her nose buried in a book on the Vehement War of 1612. It was the longest report assigned all year and was due in merely two weeks, yet the library remained empty—the books on the subject still fully stocked. Hermione could hardly believe her classmates. She had been working diligently for the last few weeks and had barely scratched the surface—which was why her nights were now spent in the deserted library. As she flipped the page, a stray piece of her frazzled hair fell into her face and she pushed it back hastily with her hand in annoyance.

She could tell it was getting late.

Her eyes burned with the hours of reading and her hand ached from the countless pages of notes. Her back was sore, her shoulders tense, and her neck was stiff from hunching deeply over her desk.

Wearily, Hermione looked up. Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, she stretched her back lightly. She looked back down at the messy pages of notes and sighed again. She was getting too tired to work anymore.

Rolling her neck on her shoulders, she caught sight of the time.

11:30.

The library would be closing in 15 minutes.

Every student at Hogwarts was required to be back in his or her House Commons by 12:00, and the library closed every night at 11:45 to ensure that this could happen. Granted,—unless it was close to a deadline—this usually only affected Hermione.

She glanced back down at her notes and then back to the clock, contemplating. She knew that she should stay . . . that 15 more minutes would get her another page read . . . some more notes taken. But, her body was telling her no.

Mentally, she fought for a few more seconds, before she made a brash decision. In one smooth motion, she slid her chair back and began to pile her books. She straightened her notes and piled them on top of the texts. Then, loading her arms full, she staggered slightly under the weight and turned toward the exit.

As she passed the librarian, she wiggled the tips of her fingers in a make-shift wave and smiled. The young witch smiled back from behind her horn-rimmed glasses and waved in response just before Hermione passed through the doors and into the hallway.

The hallway was dark and deserted. Briskly, Hermione walked through the familiar corridor from the library to the stairs that would take her to the Gryffindor common room. The sound of her footsteps echoes lightly off of the walls, only reiterating the fact that the hallway was empty.

She counted her steps, her thoughts lost in the idea of her warm bed and sleep, when a sudden voice cut through the silence and caused a shiver to run down her spine. Without looking up, she recognized the cold drawl.

"Look who's all by her lonesome . . . without the rest of the posse."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned them heatedly toward Draco Malfoy. He was leaning against the wall, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle sneering from either side. "And I see that you _still _can't go anywhere without your entourage." Her voice dripped with as much malice as she could muster.

Draco scoffed, his face contorting into a sarcastic smile. "Please . . . ."

Without a word, he waved his hand as if brushing away an invisible fly. Crabbe and Goyle remained in place.

Draco turned his cold stare from Hermione to his associates, his eyebrows knit darkly over his eyes. "Now." It was an order, and one that didn't need repeating. Immediately, Crabbe and Goyle straightened and, without another backward glace, stalked off toward the Slytherin dungeon.

Draco watched them leave and then turned back toward Hermione, his arms outstretched at his sides, his palms up, and a smug look on his face.

"What?" Hermione wasn't impressed. "That's supposed to prove something?"

"I will never have anything to prove to you." Draco's voice was hard as he crossed the hallway in two short steps.

Hermione felt adrenaline flow quickly through her veins as he approached her. She wasn't scared of him . . . but it definitely was a new experience to be completely alone with Malfoy—without any of her friends.

He took another step forward, until he was positioned directly in front of her. She could smell his expensive cologne and she cursed herself, because she enjoyed it. It was musky . . . a scent that she had never experienced before.

Mentally, she shook herself from her weakness, and placed herself back into the real-life situation. Draco Malfoy, her nemesis, was standing mere inches from her. Reflexively, she narrowed her eyes up at him.

"Well, maybe you can _not_ prove to me that you can get lost, Malfoy." Her words had a bite to them, a bite that even slightly surprised Hermione.

A fire erupted behind Draco's eyes, his jaw clenching. "What right do _you_ have to talk to _me_ like that?"

Hermione remained silent, but allowed a spiteful smile to cross her face.

In an instant, Draco's hand came crashing down on the pile of books that she held in her arms. They clattered noisily to the ground, spreading across the floor in disorder. Hermione watched them fall from her hands, her mouth open in a silent "o."

"Oops." Draco shrugged nonchalantly.

Hermione looked up at him, fire burning through her veins—heating her face until it shone a brilliant red. "How dare you!" She shrieked shrilly.

"How dare I _what_?" Draco drawled, narrowing his eyes as he leaned over her. Hermione held her ground, her eyes shooting a fiery glare into Draco's silvery orbs.

"How dare you come over here and—" Her words were choked off as strong hands roughly grabbed her arms. Losing her poise, Hermione's eyes widened. A slow, deliberate smile spread across Draco's cold features, and as she stared into his face, panic began to spread through her like wildfire.

Mustering all of her strength, Hermione composed herself, narrowed here eyes one more, and prayed hat her voice wouldn't betray her.

"Let go of me, Malfoy." Her voice was soft, but she was relieved to hear that it was also forceful.

"What did you say?' Malfoy's voice dripped with malice as he dug his fingers deeper into her biceps.

Hermione flinched at the sudden force on her arms, but continued. Her voice was low and controlled as she put space between each of her words, her eyes fiery once more. "I told you to let go of m—"

She was cut off brutally by cold lips pressing hard against hers. Her eyes widened in realization and Hermione began to struggle as she attempted to pull away, but Draco firmly held her arms.

Finally, she was able to rip herself from Draco's grip. In one fluid motion, she pulled from his reach, brought her hand up, and slapped him, hard, across the face. Th sound sounded like a gun shot as it echoed around the empty corridor. Draco's head snapped to the right from the impact as Hermione started at him in hate, a loss for words. Her breathing was ragged and heavy, a mixture of her anger and their long kiss.

Slowly, Draco turned his face back toward her. An angry red welt was already beginning to form on his cheek—a drastic contrast to his pale skin—but he was too proud to cover it with his hand.

Silently, they stared at each other. Moments passed, yet as he stood before her, Hermione slowly came to realize that something was different about him.

His eyes.

They didn't hold the same malice and scorn that they normally did. Instead, they seemed dull . . . sad. Not the same eyes of a boy who had hurt her and her friends over all of these years. No—instead they were the eyes of a boy who had been hurt himself. Not only by her, but by others.

As Draco stared at her dully, Hermione couldn't help buy stay. The anger that was just coursing through her veins was slowly subsiding and at the very moment, she realized something: Malfoy wasn't as bad as he portrayed himself to be. He was a child, just like her, who had been hurt.

She didn't know why she didn't leave. Draco Malfoy was her loathed enemy. But, now as he stood before her, silently looking back, she felt the persuasion to stay.

Hermione tipped her head at a slight angle and, narrowing her eyes, searched Draco's face. It was so different from what she was used to seeing. The mask was breaking down. And through the dullness, his emotions were beginning to show.

She didn't know how long they had been standing there . . . it felt like hours, yet it was more than likely only a few moments. However long, Hermione finally came to a decision—even though it surprised both her and Draco.

Without thinking, she took a quick step forward. Draco didn't even have tome to react before her small hands were behind his neck, pulling him down to her mouth with strength she didn't know she had.

Draco tensed as he felt her lips crash down onto his in the searing kiss, but as her lips softened, he relaxed into her and allowed himself to kiss her back. As Hermione's arms wrapped tighter around his neck, Draco snaked one arm around her slender waist and the other behind her neck, pulling her closer to his body. She leaned into his pull, her kisses becoming hungrier.

A soft moan escaped Hermione's lips as she felt Draco's tongue gently taste her bottom lip. Snaking her own tongue out, she slowly allowed the tip to touch Draco's. Draco shuddered at the contact and then sighed as their tongues began a soft, urgent tango together.

With a growl, he pushed her backwards into the shadows. Her feet tripped over and kicked the discarded books and notes, shuffling them into more disarray. Hermione gasped as her back hit the cold bricks. Grabbing Draco's robes, she pulled his body tightly against hers. She could feel the coolness of the stones penetrating her robes, but Draco's body burned against the front. Draco could feel her breasts, thick and swelling, against his chest and he couldn't think. Instead, he moaned against her mouth and memorized her taste. He could feel her hands winding in his hair, pulling him deeper, and he twisted his own fingers through her wild mane.

He was in desire for her—that was blatantly clear—as he pressed his body harder against her. Hermione whimpered brokenly and bucked her hips toward him. Lost in sensation, Draco's lips left Hermione's and his head fell back in a groan.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Panting, Hermione stared back at him, her lips swollen. Her eyes were heavy lidded and dark with lust as her hair fell in messy curls around her face.

Draco gently swept a curl behind her ear before slowly tracing his fingertips from Hermione's shoulders, down her arms, and grasped her wrists that now rest on his shoulders. Then, in one fluid motion, he pinned them against the wall above her head, and brought his lips to her neck.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as Draco's lips nibbled down her jaw. Her heart raced as his tongue found the hollow at the base of her throat, but he didn't stop. Torturously, he kissed along her collarbone, only stopping as he reached the sensitive juncture where her shoulder met her neck. Lightly, Draco bit down and Hermione cried out.

Instantaneously, Draco's lips covered hers, silencing her outbreak. He broke their kiss to bring his mouth over to her ear.

"Shhh . . . we need to be quiet." His hot breath sent chills down her spine. "We don't want to get caught."

With his last words, his teeth found her earlobe and grazed the sensitive skin.

Hermione bit her lip to suppress her moan. Instead, she rocked her hips up into Draco's . . .

Hard.

Draco hissed against her ear, and his hot breath caused Hermione to shudder and buck her hips again.

Nibbling lightly on her ear, Draco's hand traveled slowly down her ribcage, following her slender waist, and moved down over the slight curve of her hip. Hermione's mind went blank as Draco's hand found bare skin just below the hem of her skirt. Blood rushed to her face as his fingers tiptoed up her leg, disappearing under her skirt's fabric. Suddenly, his hand grasped her thigh and he hitched her leg up onto his hip.

Hermione gasped as he center was savagely pressed against Draco's evident erection. Moisture pooled between her thighs as she wrapped her leg tighter around Draco's body.

"You are so hot . . . "Draco whispered huskily against Hermione's throat.

In response, Hermione turned her head and bit at Draco's neck. He tasted of a mixture of soap and sweat.

Draco trailed his mouth across her collarbone once more, and, taking his hand from her thigh, began to slowly unbutton her blouse. His lips trailed behind, kissing every inch of flesh that he exposed. Hermione arched her back and pressed herself harder into Draco's lap.

Draco's fingers trembled slightly, and he fumbled with the button that uncovered enough to show the feminine lace of her transparent bra. Her breasts swelled over the see through pink material. Gently, Draco leaned down and kissed the exposed flesh. Mouthing the sheer fabric, he felt his pulse quicken as her nipples hardened under his touch. With a sly smile, he gently squeezed one between his teeth.

In surprise, Hermione's hands twisted roughly into his hair, holding him in place, urging him on.

Skillfully, Draco lavished one breast with his tongue and teeth before paying homage to the other. Hermione writhed beneath him, her leg tightening around his waist.

Suddenly, she froze. Her hands gripped his head with vice-like strength, cementing him in place. He pointed his eyes upward and looked at her, his face nestled against one breast.

"What is it?" Draco whispered against her skin.

"Shhh . . ." Hermione hissed back. Still holding Draco in place, she turned her head, listening carefully. Abruptly, she released him, simultaneously dropping her leg to the ground. "Someone's coming."

Draco straightened and listened. Footsteps were falling loudly down the corridor and they were definitely coming closer.

"We can hide . . . find someplace a little more private." Draco kept his voice down, but there was a pleading tone it.

But Hermione shook her head, her hands already quickly fastening the open buttons of her blouse. Taking a deep breath, she briskly ran her hands over her face, as if to rub the blush from her cheeks, and attempted to smooth her messed up hair.

The footsteps came closer, and Draco watched helplessly as Hermione pulled her skirt straight and composed herself. His heart was still pounding as he attempted to catch his breath, his legs weak. He wasn't ready to stop, but he didn't know what he could do or say.

Unexpectedly, the footsteps turned. They clicked down an adjacent corridor, rapidly disappearing until only the sounds of Hermione's and Draco's slight panting remained.

Draco turned and listened carefully, a smile appearing slowly on his face. His groin stirred again as he turned back to Hermione.

But his smile quickly disappeared.

Hermione looked back at him. His tie was loose, hanging slack around his neck. His shirttail was pulled from his trousers and his normally perfect blonde hair was in disarray. Her head was filled with emotions. She tingled with arousal, her stomach stirring as she remembered his lips on hers . . .

on her neck . . .

on her breasts.

And she was ashamed to realize that she didn't want it to stop either. She wanted more.

But he was Draco.

Draco _Malfoy_.

She couldn't let lust get in the way of that truth.

Taking a deep breath, she looked him directly in the eyes. "I'm sorry . . . we should never have done that."

It surprised her how difficult it was to say that. But as soon as the words left her mouth, she turned. She turned before she could hear his response—see the pain in his eyes . . . she turned and left him standing there, speechless.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you all so much for the great response to the first chapter

_A/N: Thank you all so much for the great response to the first chapter!! With so much interest, I jumped right onto the second chapter. I hope you enjoy it as much as you liked the first. And, as always, thank you in advance for the reviews. Your thoughts and ideas really help fuel my fire, so I know that I'm doing something right :) And away we go. . . _

**Chapter 2**

_She knew this room . . . yet it was like nothing she had ever seen before. Her eyes scanned the walls and, although a small voice nagged at the back of her mind, she couldn't pinpoint why the location was so familiar._

_Gauzy white cloth waterfalled from the ceiling—it cascaded down the walls and pooled flowingly on the floor. Countless white candles were the only light source. They illuminated the room, bathing it in warm, dancing light—creating flickering shadows through the semi- translucent material. _

_White rose pedals fell from the ceiling like snow, draping the room in a fragrant blanket. Hermione held out her hand and caught a single pedal in her open palm. It was soft like silk and tickled her skin. Slowly, she spun in place, taking it all in, her eyes as wide as a child's on Christmas morning._

_Suddenly she stopped, her breath caught in her throat. Directly in the center of the room was the biggest bed Hermione had ever seen. Puffy white bedding billowed perfectly in place beneath a mound of white pillows—the entire set up nestled comfortably underneath a tall canopy. More gauzy material flowed around it, creating a protective haven, partially shielding the bed from the rest of the room._

_The entire room was picturesque—taken directly from a fairy tale—and Hermione suddenly felt plain and out of place. Her school uniform hung off of her thin frame and contrasted painfully against the brilliant white of the room. She carefully fingered the material of her drab skirt, feeling mousy and unsightly. _

_The room engulfed her in its perfection and as she forced her eyes up from her shoes to face the splendor once again, she suddenly realized why this place was so familiar to her. _

_It was the Room of Requirement._

_Granted, it was normally set up for Dumbledore's Army—complete with numberless books and other obstacles to practice fighting—but it was definitely the same room. So why was it different now?_

_Hermione wracked her mind. Quickly, she rifled through the immeasurable facts and tidbits that she had stored there over the years. _

_The Room of Requirement . . . it was hidden somewhere in her head._

_Suddenly, Harry Potter's voice came to her head. _The Room was there for anyone who needed it—and it was always equipped for the seeker's needs.

_Her eyebrows knit tightly across her forehead and her eyes scanned the odd setup of the room._

What the seeker needs . . . .

_The Room of Require—Desire . . . ._

_Oh._

_Her pulse quickened as she finally realized why she was there . . . what she was seeking. The serene perfection in the material . . . the candles . . . the pedals . . . _

_The bed._

_She smelled him before she saw him. That damned cologne again. It found her nose and immediately, she felt intoxicated by its aroma. She suddenly found her eyes closed as she deeply drank in the fragrance. _

_She was so lost in his scent, her mind swimming, that she didn't hear him come up behind her. As he stood behind her, the smell became stronger and Hermione let her head fall to the side as if in a trance as she concentrated on her breathing._

_Strong arms wrapped protectively around her waist and Hermione leaned heavily into the body that was behind hers. Warm lips grazed the sensitive skin of her neck and Hermione felt her knees weaken. The lips worked from the juncture of her neck and shoulder and torturously moved up the length of her throat. They paused at her earlobe, and Hermione shivered as teeth softly nipped at the lobe. Then, the lips continued their journey along her jaw line. As they reached the tip of her chin, a hand gently cupped her check and turned her face toward the waiting lips. _

_Her eyes still closed, Hermione leaned forward and, barely making any contact, brushed her lips softly against the other pair. The hand remained on her face as she pulled away and forced her eyes to open. _

_Eyes the color of chrome met hers and her breath caught in her throat again. Draco Malfoy stared back at her, his face mere inches from her own. She could feel his hot breath against her skin, the sweet smell of his breath mixing with his rousing cologne. She could feel herself beginning to pant, her chest swelling with each breath, as she found herself sinking deeply into his fathomless eyes. _

_With gentle guidance, Draco used the hand on Hermione's waist to turn her so she was facing him. Hermione's eyes trailed from his face—his angel-like face—down his body, drinking in the sight of him. He was wearing a white button down shirt and white slacks. The material was thin, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and the top three buttons undone, showing a small sample of his smooth chest. His platinum hair was slicked back—flawless—and blended in slightly with his surroundings. Even his eyes looked lighter._

_He looked different in white; kinder, gentler. Hermione was so used to seeing him in black—black uniform and clothing to match his usually darkened expressions. He looked like he should be walking on a beach somewhere—not standing in this beautiful room with her._

_In horror, she looked down again at her own lackluster clothing. She wanted to cover up . . . to hide. _

_A finger nestled under her chin and gently pulled her face up. Draco's eyes looked understanding as he looked at her face. Slowly he leaned forward, pulling her tightly against his body. _

"_You look beautiful."_

_His voice was husky and low against her ear and his breath tickled her skin._

_Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, her eyelashes resting gently against her alabaster skin, as Draco's lips once again began to nibble on her earlobe. She could feel heat rush to her face as she found it hard to catch her breath once more, her panting pressing her breasts against Draco's hard chest. _

_His lips began to trail down her jaw line again, but it was too slow—torturously slow. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Hermione grabbed his face and crushed her lips on top of his. His gasp of surprise only fueled the fire and she deepened their kiss, her lips spreading, allowing for their tongues to tangle. _

_Thoughts of their steamy encounter in the hallways raced back into Hermione's mind like a freight train, and she instantly felt moisture pool between her legs. She remembered his mouth, his hands, the feeling of his body hardening against hers . . . and it was beginning to happen again—yet this time, there was nothing (or nobody) to stop them. _

_Her hands twisted through his picture perfect hair, pulling his face deeper into hers. His hands roamed frantically across her back, his fingers digging into her flesh and pulling her closer to him. Reaching up on her toes, her kisses became hungrier. She couldn't seem to get close enough to his body. Tipping her pelvis, she ground her hips into his. He moaned against her mouth and she felt him stiffen against her. _

_Slowly, he began to walk her backward. She stumbled slightly as her feet shuffled, but his arms held her steady and she never broke their kiss. _

_With a jolt, the back of Hermione's knees hit the edge of the bed, and she sat down heavily. Draco leaned over her, his lips never leaving hers. With gentle pressure, he pressed her backward until she was horizontal on the bed—the fluffy down comforter framing her body and face. _

_Breaking their kiss, Draco looked down at Hermione. Her lips were swollen—her face a slight pink. She was breathing heavily and her eyes were dark with lust. She looked beautiful as her wild hair—tumbled and tousled—contrasted against the brilliant white of the comforter. _

_Slowly and calculative,—with a predator-like motion—Draco crawled underneath the material of the canopy and on top of Hermione. His body pressed down on hers, hard and warm. Her knees bent, allowing more room. She gasped as she felt his straining zipper against her inner thigh. Without thought, she writhed underneath him, and rolled her hips into his. _

_His hips reciprocated with their own thrust._

_Hermione cried out, her back arching from the pillowed bed. All thought escaped her mind as uncontrollable desire took over._

_In a frenzy, Hermione's fingers began to unbutton the white shirt that Draco was wearing. She had to feel his hard, smooth chest . . . she wanted to feel it against her own naked flesh. Draco didn't waste a moment before his fingers were undoing her blouse. _

_Hastily, she threw the thin material to the side at the same instant that her blouse was ripped the rest of the way open. She gasped as coolness hit her skin, but it was immediately replaced with the warmth from Draco's body. _

_Draco's lips crushed against hers again, and Hermione reveled in the feeling of his smooth, warm chest against hers. Her nails raked over his shoulders and down his back._

_He kissed her jaw and moved quickly to her shoulders. Pulling the strap of her bra down, he kissed the exposed flesh. His hand groped at her breast, thorough the thin material of her bra. _

_Hermione's mind went blank. She tossed her head and arched into his lap. He responded with another thrust, and when she countered that, his hips began to continuously roll against hers. Without stopping, he dragged his mouth over her collarbone and started a trail that led directly between her breasts. In one fluid motion, his fingers trailed behind her back and skillfully unfastened the clasp. The bra fell open, revealing dark, hardened nipples. They stood firm and erect, the darker color distinguishable from the smooth porcelain skin of her breasts._

_His hand left her breast only to be replaced with his lips. _

_Hermione could feel his hot breath against her tit as tongue swirled and sucked at her nipple. Her hands twisted in his hair, holding him in place. Suddenly, he took the nipple between his teeth and bit down gently. A broken gasp shuddered through Hermione's lips. He tore his mouth from one, only to move it to the other. He was hard against her, but his skin, his hands, and his lips were soft. Pleasure pulsed through Hermione's body, causing more wetness to soak through the core of her panties._

_His hands found the bare skin of her thighs and he pushed his hands underneath the fabric of her skirt. Unannounced, his mouth left her nipple and trailed slowly down her stomach. He paused slightly at her belly button, using his tongue to swirl around the outer circle. _

_Hermione was so crazed with lust that she barely registered his lips moving from her lower abdomen to the inside of her left knee. Draco used his tongue to slowly ascend up her thigh. His tongue left a wet path that cooled instantly with his hot breath. _

_Suddenly, his hands tipped her hips off of the bed. Using his thumbs, he hooked the elastic of her panties and began to pull them down her legs. _

_All of the feelings of lust were immediately replaced with sheer panic. Hermione's eyes flew open as she struggled to push herself up on her elbows. But, Draco's hand reached up and gently pressed on her abdomen. He looked up at her, only his eyes visible from beneath the material of her skirt. His eyes were heavy lidded and had changed from a brilliant chrome to a stormy grey—the color of lust. Hermione still felt a twinge of panic, but the feelings of desire were steadily growing stronger. _

_Her body relaxed slightly underneath his touch and before she knew what had happened, his head disappeared underneath her skirt as he unceremoniously bent and sucked her clit into his mouth. Her hips arched up; she was shocked, rocked, by the suddenness of the assault. She moaned loudly as he parted her with her tongue. He licked the length of her slit and then stabbed his tongue into her center._

_He grabbed the back of her thighs and pushed her legs up and back so she was completely open to him. Using just the tip of his tongue, he lightly flicked her clit. Hermione moaned again, panting, and thrust her hips toward him. Her head tossed on the comforter and she bit her hand to stop herself from screaming._

_She could feel her climax beginning to build, when suddenly, Draco thrust a finger into her. Her eyes rolled back in her head as his finger stroked her wet walls. His mouth found her clit again and he sucked—hard—as a second finger joined the first. Hermione screamed as the end of his finger hit her in the right spot and her climax hit hard and fast. Her body convulsed around his fingers and she shuddered on the bed._

_As Hermione lay panting, Draco pulled himself from between her legs. Slowly—deliberately—he kissed as much exposed flesh as he could, reawakening her body beneath his touch._

_Lazily, she opened her eyes—her breathing becoming more normal. She ran her hands up his chest, to his shoulders, and behind his neck. Gently, she pulled him to her lips. She could taste herself on his tongue. She could feel her hardened nipples pressing against his chest._

_Smoothly, she rolled him. With skill, she swung her leg over his waist and straddled him. She could feel his erection pressing through the fabric of his slacks. Rocking her hips back and forth, she began to ride him through the material. A hiss escaped his lips as his head fell backward onto the bed. He thrust up at her, and she could see that he was getting close to his own release._

_Abruptly, Hermione ceased. Draco's eyes opened in surprise. Coyly, she slid back until she was kneeling between his spread legs. Her hands rubbed over the straining pants, and he threw his head back. Hermione's fingers nimbly went to work on the button and fly. She licked her lips expectantly. _

_Slowly, she stripped the slacks from his hips and her hands rubbed him through his boxers. Hissing into the air, his eyes closed. Smiling, she slipped the boxers from his hips and down his legs. _

_A moan escaped her lips as she finally caught sight of him. He was so ready, so hard, so long, that her body was near spasm at the sight of him._

_Delicately, Hermione bent between his legs and licked his length. A strained "yes" slipped from Draco's lips. She moaned against him and she felt his body begin to thrust into her mouth. His fingers wrapped in her hair and she looked up at him. Her eyes were a dark storm of lust as she took him deep into her mouth. Her hand grasped what her mouth couldn't take into her mouth, and began to pump. She pulled back, circling the tip with her tongue before going back and pumping him again. _

_Draco was beginning to pant, his fingers becoming rougher in Hermione's hair, pulling her forward to conceal more. She pulled back, sensing that he was on the verge of release. Seductively, she crawled over his body until she was straddling him once more. She lifted her skirt and positioned herself directly above his hardened rod._

_Draco grabbed her roughly by the hips and pulled her down onto him, causing a keening cry to exit Hermione's throat. His hips bucked against her, sending him further inside of her. She could feel him stretching her, and pain mixed deliciously with pleasure. _

_Slowly, she lifted her hips and pressed them back down onto his lap. He retaliated. Hermione's head fell backward as she began to find a rhythm in her bouncing. She gripped his ribs, creating leverage. Groaning, their bodies rocked harder and faster, eliciting sounds from their skin as it slapped together. _

_Hermione began to pant Draco's name with each rocking motion. A bead of sweat dripped between her breasts as they bounced with each thrust. Draco's hands gripped her hips, as he pulled himself deeper. Hermione bent forward and caught him in a searing kiss. Their tongues slipped across each other as they continued to rock in unison. _

_As Hermione thrust he tongue deeply into Draco's mouth, his thrusts became even deeper, harder, and slightly arrhythmic. He tore his mouth from hers, his jaw clenched as he tried to control himself. Hermione slid her hands into his hair, tugged his lips back to hers, and sucked and licked at his mouth._

_Draco swelled inside of Hermione and she knew that he was close. She tore her mouth from his, her moaning becoming louder. He thrust his hips and it hit a deep spot deep within her walls. She leaned her head back and screamed Draco's name as her climax rocketed violently through her. Draco's growl was just as loud, and mere seconds later. _

_With no strength remaining, Hermione fell forward, cloaking Draco. He was still inside of her and she could feel him swell slightly as he lazily traced circles around her back. His lips were soft as they kissed her cheek . . . her nose . . . her eyelids . . . _

Hermione sat up with a start. She took a moment to adjust to the darkness and realized that she was in her dorm room, safe and secure in her bed. Yet, her skin was electrified,—like all of her nerves were raw and exposed—she was panting, and she could feel a flush darkening her face.

It was a dream.

A very vivid dream.

She moved her legs and could feel the wetness soaking through her panties.

It was just a dream.

She tried to forget what she had just experienced in her head, and was shocked when she felt the desire swell in her again.

She felt his lips . . . his hands . . . his tongue.

Her nipples hardened.

She shook her head, trying to clear the imagery. _No, it's wrong_.

She felt him deep inside of her.

She rubbed at her face. _No, it's _Malfoy.

Malfoy . . . yes, Draco Malfoy.

And although she knew she should feel ashamed, or repulsed, she only felt lust—pure, unadulterated lust.

And she was positive that she wouldn't be getting any more sleep that night.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_A/N: Sorry for the delayed update. I was out of town for the weekend and was unable to work on it. But, thanks so much for all of your support!!! You guys are AWESOME! In my wildest dreams I never thought this piece would be getting so much attention. It was just something to quench my romance novelish desires :). So, thanks again and enjoy the next installment. Oh, and as usual, thanks in advance for any reviews. It really helps me to continue :)_

_And away we go . . . _

**Chapter 3**

"Geez, 'Mione, you look like hell." Harry Potter's voice cut through the noisy Great Hall where the students of Hogwarts were enjoying their breakfasts.

Hermione lifted her brown eyes from her bowl of porridge to look into the green eyes of her best friend. Dark circles darkened her normally luminescent face.

"Stay a little too late in the library?" Ron Weasley ragged, his voice cheery—a little _too_ upbeat.

_The library . . . _

Immediately, the last 8 hours rushed back to Hermione's mind: the vivid memory of Draco in the hallway—and now, the steamy dream. She felt the familiar rush of heat settle on her cheeks.

Shaking her head to clear her visions, she narrowed her eyes at Ron. "No . . . for your information, I did _not_. And, you know it would do _you_ some good to go to the library every once in a while instead of just tease me about it, Ron Weasley."

She finished haughtily, enunciating his name with finalized force.

Ron's grin instantly vanished from his face, his eyebrows knitting together over his eyes in concern. "Geez, Hermione . . . I was just kidding. What the hell's gotten into you?"

Hermione sighed softly, her glare at Ron relaxing. "Nothing . . . I guess I'm just tired."

"Are you okay?" Harry's soft voice broke into the conversation.

Hermione nodded once and allowed her eyes to trail back down to the now lumpy porridge in her bowl. Her friends took the hint and quickly let the subject drop and, instead, began to talk Quidditch strategies amongst themselves. Hermione listened to the low hum of their voices for a few moments before completely zoning them out. Picking up her spoon, she absentmindedly began to play with her quickly cooling breakfast—her appetite extinguished.

She once more found her thoughts on Draco Malfoy. She could feel tears of anger sting the corners of her eyes. She was angry at him for putting the ideas in her head—but more importantly, she was angry at herself for feeling the way she did. Yesterday, he was Draco Malfoy—loathed enemy—and the only feeling she felt for him was hate. But now . . .

_Why did he have to kiss me?_

She suddenly looked up from her bowl and—without realizing it—her eyes began to casually scan the perimeter of the room.

_There._

Draco sat at one of Slytherin tables at the far end of the Great Hall, surrounded by his usual hoard of goons—yet he was blatantly disregarding them. Instead, he was staring fixedly at a spot on the wall—as if he could bore a hold through it solely with his eyes. His breakfast sat cooling in front of him, untouched.

Hermione studied his profile. His flaxen hair was perfectly slicked back. His pallid face—contrasting against the blackness of his school robes—was smooth and free of any emotion (_the mask was back in place_), except for the one small line that created a crease between his gray-colored eyes. And the corners of his mouth were bent downward into the well-known frown known by everyone at Hogwarts.

As she watched him stare blankly at the wall, she wondered what he was thinking about—_was he thinking about her?_—and immediately scolded herself for doing so. She didn't _want _him to be thinking about her—and she shouldn't be thinking about _him_.

Still staring and lost in thought, she didn't notice when Draco suddenly broke his gaze with the wall and turned his head toward the Gryffindor tables. His eyes slowly searched the sea of faces until he saw her—staring directly at him. He focused directly on her face, but she saw nothing—she was deep in thought. He searchingly probed her eyes with his own, wondering what she was thinking about.

_Was she thinking about him?_

Hermione's thoughts were shattered as she felt a pair of eyes watching her intently. Refocusing, she was horrified to see that Draco Malfoy was no longer looking at the wall. Instead, he was turned and staring . . . directly at her.

Draco watched as Hermione's eyes refocused, yet he refused to break his gaze. Their eyes locked for the first time—light to dark—and the steady drone of voices around him abruptly faded into nothingness. Unaware, the corner of his mouth turned upward, causing a small crooked half-smile to form across his face.

Hermione's gasped audibly as her breath caught in her throat and she felt blood rush up her neck and engulf her face. Quickly, she tore her eyes from Draco and dropped them back down to the bowl in front of her. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as she tried to slow her breathing. Wide eyed, thoughts rifled through her mind like quick fire.

"Hermione?"

Ron's voice broke through and Hermione snapped her head up. She swallowed thickly before answering. "What?"

"Took you long enough . . . I called you, like three times."

Hermione stared at him stupidly.

Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably and continued. "Um . . . Draco Malfoy is _staring_ at you."

Hermione felt her mouth go dry as her heartbeat once more took over her ears. She opened her mouth to respond, but she had no words. Instead, she broke her eye contact with Ron, pushed back her bowl, and abruptly stood from the table.

Composing herself, she smoothed her face of all emotions and attempted her best look of nonchalance. Disinterested, she shrugged one shoulder at her friends. "So? Let him stare . . . . I'm going to the library anyway."

Without waiting for an answer, Hermione turned on her heel and walked quickly toward the exit. She felt hot and could feel her breathing begin to come in gasps, but she refused to turn back to face the eyes that stared at her: the eyes of her bewildered friends—and the eyes of Draco Malfoy.

*******************************************

A book lay open on the table in the library, but Hermione wasn't focusing on it. Instead, she was deep in thought; lost in the depths of her mind. Tears rimmed her eyes, causing the words on the page to blur together in a black haze. A frown etched deeply on her face as she distractedly picked at her fingernail. She was at a loss for what to do. Her wants were fighting a battle with her logic, and at this point, neither was winning.

Shutting her eyes, she inhaled deeply to calm her nerves and immediately froze. A _very _familiar scent wafted to her nose and she felt her body both tense and come alive at the same instant.

Opening her eyes, she stared directly forward and held perfectly still. Her ears picked up each and every small sound around her, keeping her body poised on the edge.

"You dropped these."

She jumped as the deep, soft drawl of Draco Malfoy sounded next to her ear. She turned just as Draco carefully placed the books and notes that she had dropped in the hallway on top of the table next to the discarded open book. She looked up at him, embarrassed by how loudly her heart was beating, and felt her stomach twist with butterflies as her eyes met his.

Draco smiled a half smile down at her. Torturously slow, he leaned forward until his lips almost touched her ear. His expensive cologne assaulted Hermione's nose and she felt her body weaken as she remembered her vivid dream.

"You know . . . most people reply with 'thank you.'" His whispered breath was hot against her ear, causing a shiver to run down the length of the spine.

Hermione swallowed, her mouth as dry as cotton. "Thank you." It was a strangled whisper—hardly audible—but it satisfied Draco. He straightened to his full height, but remained agonizingly close to Hermione's side.

Grabbing the open book, Hermione snapped it closed with shaky fingers and shoved her chair back from the table. Staring purposefully forward, she pushed her way past Draco and moved down a row of books. Stretching up on her toes, she lifted the book to the top of the bookshelf to replace it.

"I had a dream about you last night."

Draco's voice caught Hermione off guard and she nearly dropped the book.

"In fact . . . I couldn't get you out of my head."

She was frozen in place, her arm extended over her head, the book in her hand. His voice was low—a whisper—only inches from her ear. Her heart thudded with his closeness.

Suddenly, his hand slid over hers, his fingers lightly tickling up her wrist to the back of the hand that held the book. She gasped at his touch, surprised at how familiar and warm it felt—nothing like the cold façade that he normally fronted. With gentle pressure, he helped her reshelf the book. Then, using just his fingertips on her jaw line, he spun her to face him.

Hermione could feel the bookcase unevenly pressing into her back as she stared up at his face. He was leaning dangerously close, his hands leaning on either side of her face, creating an unbreakable barrier with his arms. His arms were bent slightly at the elbows, bringing his face even closer to hers. Her head was swimming with his fascinating scent. Moments ticked by painfully slow before Draco spoke again. His breath was sweet and hot on Hermione's face.

"Did you think of me last night?"

She was unable to speak as the memory of her dream came rushing back. Her tongue was thick and lay heavily on the bottom of her mouth.

Draco stared intently into her face, his eyes dancing with excitement.

He leaned closer, so his face was mere inches from her. Hermione traced his lips with her eyes and felt an uncontrollable urge to close the remaining distance and kiss him. She remembered the feeling of his lips on hers . . . of his tongue tangling with hers . . . and all of her inhibitions melted from her mind like ice cream on a hot day.

He leaned even closer still and Hermione felt her eyelids flutter shut. His lips grazed the corner of her mouth before traveling over her cheek to her ear.

"Did you think of me last night?" His repeated question ended with his teeth gently nipping her earlobe.

Hermione was sure that her sharp intake of breath could be heard by others in the quiet library, but she didn't care any more. "Yes . . . ." Her voice was husky with lust—much deeper than she was used to hearing.

"Did you like it?" Draco traced his tongue along the outside of her ear and pressed his body closer to her.

She felt his advance and was immediately thrown back into her dream. Heat rushed between her legs. She could feel his heat and longed to feel his hardness. She wanted to wrap her arms tightly around his body and pull him into her—closer than physically possible. She wanted to rip his clothes from his body and ravage him—right here in the library. She wanted to feel his talented tongue. She wanted to feel him deep inside of her. And she wanted to moan and writhe under his body as he made her cum.

Gently, she rocked her hips up into his. "Yes."

She could feel him harden slightly against her leg as he groaned quietly against her ear.

With lightening speed that took Hermione by surprise, Draco took her lips with his. He devoured her mouth, his tongue pushing deep inside the warm cavern. Hermione pulled him closer and tangled her own tongue with his, breathing heavily against his lips.

Abruptly, Draco pulled back out of her ironclad grip. His cheeks had a rosy flush and his chest rose and fell with heavy breath as he stared down at her.

Hermione felt cold without his body heat contributing to her own. She tried to calm her own breathing as she looked up at Draco in confusion.

"Meet me." Draco's voice was soft as he gently tucked a strand of stray hair behind Hermione's ear.

As his words registered, Hermione felt her mouth go dry. Her heart fluttered erratically in her chest. Suddenly, logic reappeared in her mind and she felt her doubts come flooding back.

Draco looked down at her, his eyes soft—almost pleading. He softly traced his fingertips up and down her jaw, patiently waiting for her response.

Shivering under his touch, she couldn't believe the next word that crossed her lips—"Where?"

The response was no louder than a whisper, but it was all Draco needed to hear. A smile warmed his flushed face as his eyes lightened in excitement. "4th floor. By the statue of Bartholomew Branding. 10:00."

Hermione's heart was pounding painfully loud, but she still managed to nod her head once.

Draco smiled, leaned forward, and planted one final kiss on her lips. "Until tonight . . . ."

And then he was gone—leaving Hermione leaning heavily against the bookcase, the taste of him still on her tongue. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, but she could still hear her mind screaming at her.

_What had she just done?_

_A/N: A little shorter than anticipated, but I was having some trouble getting it on paper and didn't want to keep you waiting too long :) So, we'll just call this a "set-up." Next chapter will be steamier (cuz we all like that) and will be up as soon as it's finished. I promise! Once again, thank you so much for reading and I hope you review. It really makes my day :) _


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Hermione paced around her room, her stomach tied in knots.

The War in her mind had returned, and it was louder than ever.

She had been distracted all day, floating around the school like a zombie. No matter what she tried, she was broken and distracted. She was unfocused during her classes—to the point that her teachers were worried. Her multiple attempts in the library were pointless—her parchment remained untouched. She even tried to distract herself from her thoughts by watching Harry during Quidditch practice, yet her distractedness resulted in one close call from a bludger whizzing loudly past her head. This had forced her to retreat to the safety behind Hogwart's walls.

At supper, her food was bland and tasteless. Robotically, she spooned it into her mouth. She was on edge and, although her friends were laughing around her, she did not join in. If they turned their attention to her, she was curt with her answers and often snapped at them unnecessarily.

So, they left her alone.

She stared blankly at her plate, terrified that she would look up and see Draco staring at her.

_Or _not _staring at her._

She excused herself from the dinner table earlier than everyone else and immediately retreated to her room. Before she could stop, the tears of exhaustion, frustration, and confusion came. They wracked her body and soaked her face.

Her roommate, Ginny Weasley, walked in from supper and immediately stopped in the doorway. Hermione quickly turned her face from her and attempted to stop her sobbing, but her shoulders still shook under the stress.

"Hermione?" Ginny's voice was soft—full of concern. "Are you alright?"

Unable to answer, Hermione merely nodded.

"Are you sure? You can talk to me about it."

"No . . . I can't." Hermione sniffled as she struggled with the words. And it was true . . . she couldn't tell anyone. A fresh batch of tears welled up in her eyes at that realization.

"Honey, you can tell me anything."

Hermione shook her head violently from side to side. "Please—just leave me alone." The request was a jagged whisper, and it stabbed Hermione through the heart to say it to her best friend.

Ginny froze at the words and,—without even having to look at her—Hermione knew that she had been hurt with them as well.

Ginny took a step backward, confused, and grasped the edge of the door. "Well, if you need anything, you just let me know." Without waiting for a response, she stepped through the frame and pulled the door shut behind her noiselessly.

Hours had then passed, with Hermione locked in her own personal Hell. She had weighed all of her options a thousand times, but could never reach a definitive answer. At one point, she was going . . . then she wasn't. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. She cried. She felt sick to her stomach. And finally, she felt numb.

At one point, she made her first decision and changed her clothes. She wasn't going to—she felt comfortable in her school uniform—but she suddenly remembered her dream and how out of place she felt. She decided, then, that she would change—just in case she decided to go—and slipped into a pair of jeans and a simple light pink sweater.

She had then looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection shone back—plain clothes on a plain girl. Her eyes were bloodshot and red and her light skin was splotchy with her recent emotion. That image had brought on a new bout of tears. Forcefully, she had flopped facedown on her bed to allow them passage from her system.

Now, she was up again—pacing the floor mindlessly—her hands clenched together tensely. Any decision that was reached in her mind was immediately countered by the War that raged in her head.

She was going . . . .

She wasn't going . . . .

She jumped violently as the silence was suddenly shattered by the clock striking half past the hour. Her eyes wide, she looked down at her watch.

9:30.

Her stomach twisted and nausea flooded back in waves. Shaking, Hermione sat down on the side of her bed. She swallowed heavily and wrung her hands tightly together in her lap.

She still didn't know what to do . . . and she was running out of time.

Taking a deep breath, she quickly began filing through the pros and cons again.

_He was __Draco Malfoy__. _

_She _didn't_ want to go . . . ._

_But, his tongue . . . his touch . . . ._

_She _wanted_ to go . . . ._

She felt tears wet her eyes once more and she bit her lip. Logically speaking, she should be able to address each option and make a clear decision, but the more she thought about it, the more confusing everything became.

The War raged on.

The clock abruptly struck 10:00 and Hermione felt her heart drop in disbelief. Draco's face swam into her vision and she was surprised to feel that her face was once again wet with tears. She could see him standing by the statue on the 4th floor.

Waiting . . . .

Waiting for her . . . .

In her mind, she watched him waiting by the statue. The clock ticked by, and with each passing minute, she saw his eyes change. Suddenly, she was looking into those sad eyes again. Those eyes muted and lifeless with hurt.

Her heart broke with the idea of the hurt that she could cause him and suddenly, serenity washed over her.

She didn't think anymore.

Taking a deep breath, she held it momentarily before expelling it with a heavy _whoosh_. Definitively, she drummed her hands on her knees and pushed herself vertical.

Hurrying toward the door, she paused slightly to examine her reflection in the mirror. She wiped at her face and nose, erasing any signs of her tears. Hastily running her hands through her wild hair, she attempted to smooth it around her face. She looked mousy . . . plain. She was nothing more than a pauper, shadowed in Draco's brilliance. She shook her head at her image.

"What the hell are you _doing_?" She whispered aloud to the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her with a bewildered expression.

Before she lost her nerve again, she turned quickly from her likeness, pushed her way through the door, and started down the stairs toward the common room.

"Where are you going so late?"

Hermione jumped as Ron stepped in front of her. Harry and Ginny looked up at her from the couch where they sat, side-by-side, sharing a book between them. No doubt Ginny had already informed them of her antics up in the dorm room.

Her heart pounded loudly in her chest. She licked her lips uneasily before lying directly to his face. "Um . . . to the library." The lie sounded forced and pathetic in her head.

_He knows it's a lie._

"This late?" Ron cocked an eyebrow at her. "You know, 'Mione, maybe you should think about taking a night off. You look exhausted."

He was right—and she knew it—but she didn't let it show on her face.

She forced her voice to be cheerful. "Albeit I _do_ enjoy the concern, Ron, do you _really _think it wise of me to take academic advice from you?" She allowed a small smile to form at the corners of her mouth as Ron stared back at her. She continued before he could respond. "Now, may I please go before it gets _too_ late?"

Draco swam back into her mind and she had to focus on keeping her words even.

Ron looked into her face questioningly but moved a few inches to the left to allow her passage. As she passed him, she refused to make eye contact with either Harry or Ginny. Instead, she attempted to give Ron a reassuring smile as she passed him, but she was sure he saw through that too.

**************************************************

The hallways were completely silent except for Hermione's hurried footsteps. A few minutes back, the clock had sounded for 10:30, and its chime still reverberated eerily off of the walls.

_He's going to leave._

It was a threat that pushed her forward until she was running down the steep staircase—her feet skipping steps.

She skidded to a halt at the bottom of the stairs as she reached the fourth floor, breathing heavily. She visualized the statue and felt terror at the thought that Draco might not be standing there—yet simultaneously she felt her body tingle in excitement at the thought that he _might_ be there. Her nerves knotted tightly together as butterflies quivered in her stomach, but she forced herself forward.

The fourth floor corridor was completely vacant of students and dimly lit with torches. They flickered and danced, splaying thick, dark shadows across the bricks.

The statue was located toward the end of the hallway—around a bend—and it would be a few more feet before she saw if he had decided to wait for her. Her mind screamed at her to walk faster—to run even—but she forced her feet to move slowly.

She was late already . . . a few more minutes wouldn't change the outcome. So, she focused on moving one foot in front of the other as she took deep, calming breaths. She focused on the upcoming corner—the corner that hid the statue from view. With each small step, it drew closer and Hermione felt her hands begin to shake.

_He's not there._

She was shocked when she felt her stomach drop at the thought. In unexpected realization, she would be disappointed if he wasn't there.

She paused when she reached the corner. Leaning her hand on the wall for support, she quickly composed herself. Mentally, she prepared herself for the worst. Taking a deep breath, she looked around the corner and felt her stomach drop to her feet.

He was there.

He was sitting on the ground in his expensive street clothes beside the statue of Bartholomew—his knees pulled up to his chest. His arms were outstretched in front of him, his wrists resting lightly on top of his kneecaps. Idly, he curled and uncurled his dangling fingers. He had his head tipped back, pressing it against the wall—his eyes closed.

He looked as if he were sleeping—or deeply meditating—but Hermione could see the small line between his eyes crease and smooth as he sat absorbed in thought.

Moving around the corner, her feet shuffled one step closer. They scraped against the floor and broke the silence.

Draco's eyes popped open and he slowly turned his head toward the noise. As he registered her standing there, a smile illuminated his face. Instantly, he was on his feet. He took a hesitant step toward her.

"You came . . . ." It was a statement filled with incredulity. He took two more steps forward, his eyes shining a light pewter.

Doubts flooded back into Hermione's mind. Timidly, she cowered in the shadows unsure of what to do. She swallowed thickly, her heart suddenly in her throat. "I'm sorr—" Her dismal excuse sounded so stupid in her head that it caught and died in her throat.

Draco closed the remaining feet between them and gently laid a finger across her lips. Looking down at her, he searched her face with gentle eyes—eyes void of any hurt or sadness. Shrugging his shoulders slightly, he shook his head as he looked deeply into her eyes. "I don't care," he softly replied.

Before she could respond, he leaned forward and replaced his finger with his lips—but this kiss was different than the rest. It was slow, soft, and sensual—not filled with desire and lust. Hermione's mind went blank, including all traces of her recent doubt.

Carefully, she wrapped her arms around his torso. His black cashmere sweater radiated his scent and felt like heaven under her fingers. Slowly, she traced her fingertips up and down his spine, feeling his muscles flex as he tenderly placed his hands on either side of her face. His tongue delicately traced her bottom lip and Hermione sighed against his mouth. Tightening her arms, she pulled him closer, longing and hungry for more.

Draco felt her insistency and gently pulled back from her grip. With a smile he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Patience, firecracker . . . I want to show you something first."

She shivered as he grabbed her hand. Slowly, he interlaced his fingers through hers and led her down the hall.

Abruptly, he stopped in front of a closed door. Taking out his wand, he quickly checked both ways down the hallway before he muttered at the door—_Alohamora! _The door slowly swung open. Putting his arm around Hermione's waist, he gently led her through the door.

Hermione leaned into his body. At first, she was so captivated by the feeling of his arm around her that she didn't register the room around her. But, as he took his arm from her to shut and relock the door, the room swarmed into focus and her breath caught in her throat.

The room was an unused classroom that had been magically transformed. Multiple blankets formed a luxurious looking bed in the middle of the floor. Plush pillows were piled atop a wine-colored velvet comforter. Various candles were lit around the makeshift bed, giving the room a relaxed and secure feeling in the dim light.

It wasn't as extravagant as her dream, but it was equally as beautiful.

From behind, Draco snaked his arms around Hermione's waist and then leaned his head into her neck. "Do you like it?" he breathed into her hair.

Hermione turned to face him, her eyes glistening. "It's perfect."

With a smile, Draco leaned forward and captured her lips once more. The kiss was much like the same—gentle and soft—but this time, his arms pulled her intently against his body.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she rose up on her toes and allowed him to pull her closer. His lips worked against hers, his tongue gently probing her mouth. Pulling back, he kissed down her jaw line. Hermione sighed against his neck as his mouth found her earlobe. He bit down gently, and she shuddered against his chest.

"Can I ask you something?" she breathed brokenly.

"Whatever you want . . . ." His face was buried in her hair as his gently tongued the depression behind her ear.

"Why me?" She shuddered again, suddenly very hot. "Why now?"

Draco straightened and faced her. He pondered her question for a brief moment, his eyes thoughtful. Finally, he looked at her directly and replied with a shrug. "I don't know."

It was a sincere answer and, at the moment, the only one Hermione needed to hear. Reaching out, she gripped his hand and pulled him toward the blankets in the middle of the room. He followed willingly and allowed her to pull him to a kneeling position beside her. She dropped his hand and took his face and placed her hands on either side of his face. Using her fingertips, she caressed his smooth skin. He stared back at her, his eyes the color of an approaching storm.

"I want this to be for you tonight . . ." his voice was husky. "I want it to be slow—but . . ."

Hermione cut off his words with her finger. "Shhh . . ." she smiled up at him. "Why don't we just let it happen?"

She devoured his lips again before he could answer. This time, some of the urgency came out as his lips moved against hers. His tongue thrust deeply into her mouth and she moaned as it tangled with hers.

Gripping his neck tightly, Hermione drew him closer. Leaning backward, she pulled him on top of her. His body weight heavily blanketed her causing extra heat to radiate through her thin sweater. Bringing her leg up, she wrapped it tightly around his waist. He moaned as her leg pulled his groin into her lap.

Breaking the kiss, he bit at her neck, sucking at the sensitive skin. Hermione twisted her hands into his hair, her breathing becoming irregular. Trailing one hand from her shoulders, he teasingly traced his fingertips down her sternum, and began palming her breast through her sweater.

Her fingernails dug into his back. She traced her hands down his back—the feeling of the cashmere exquisite beneath her fingertips—to the hem of his shirt. Slowly, she slid her palms up the bare skin of his back.

Sitting up on his knees between her legs, he looked down at her before taking the hem of her shirt between his fingertips. Hermione's hands traveled from his back to his flat stomach. Her fingers traced the contours of his muscles—her eyes a dark chocolate.

Draco pulled the material up from the waistband of her jeans, exposing her light colored flesh. Bending at the waist, he placed a gentle kiss just above her navel. His lips followed as the material ascended. They only stopped moving as they reached her breasts. Her nipples were firm and stuck through the material of her bra. Gently, he took one between his teeth.

Grabbing her shirt, Hermione pulled it over her head and threw it across the room. Her head fell back in pleasure as his mouth worked her hard buds.

His teeth gripped the material of her bra and pulled it down—exposing her darkened nipple. He ravaged it with his mouth and Hermione cried out. Instantly, she covered her mouth, her eyes wide.

"We're going . . . to get . . . caught . . . ." Her panting caused her sentence to break.

"I've already thought about that."

Draco once more grabbed his wand and waved it briefly around the room—_Muffulo!_

"Now we can be as loud as we want to."

_Oh._

Hermione felt heat between her legs as he bent and sucked her nipple into his hot mouth again. Arching her back, she fumbled at the clasp of her bra. Finally, her fingers were able to unhook it and she slid the fabric from her body. Draco groaned against her skin before moving over to the other breast.

She could feel the cashmere of his sweater sweep across her naked torso. That was much better than under her hands. Yet, she longed to feel his skin against hers even more. Urgently, she tugged at his shirt, exposing the deep grooves of his stomach muscles. His mouth left her right breast for only enough time to allow for the shirt to pass over his face.

Twisting her hands into his perfect hair, she relished in the feeling of his skin on hers. It was ten times better than she had dreamt.

Writing under him, she once again wrapped her leg around him. His semi-hard erection pressed through his black pants and into her inner thigh. Wanting to feel every inch of him, she reached between her legs and gripped him.

In surprise, he bit down on her nipple—a little harder than intended.

Hermione gasped and her hand tightened involuntarily. Instantly, he hardened in her hand. Licking her lips she gently began to stroke him through the material. His head fell back, breaking the contact with her nipple. His breathing began to labor as his eyes fluttered shut. She continued to grip him, rubbing her hands up and down his length.

Suddenly, his hand reached down and gripped hers, halting her motions. When she looked up, he was looking down at her—his eyes an intense charcoal. "I already said that I want this to be about you tonight."

The muscles of her pussy spasmed with his words. Once again, she remembered her dream . . . and his skilled tongue. Tracing his fingers down her ribs, he unbuttoned her jeans. The zipper slid down easily. Then, in one smooth motion, he lifted her hips and pulled her jeans down her legs. Throwing them to the side, he looked down at her firm body, clad only in her underwear. She knew that she should feel self-conscious, but she could sense the pleasure that was to come. Wiggling her hips, she bit her lip—her eyes heavy lidded.

Draco smiled at her playfulness. Reaching down, he gripped her ankle and lifted it to his lips. His hands and lips ran up her smooth leg. Pausing at her knee, he used his tongue to lick at the sensitive skin behind the bend. He then used his nose to lead up her upper thigh.

Hermione felt her breath hitch in her throat as he neared the one spot she longed for him to touch. Lifting her hips, she urged him on.

Without warning, he bent and took her through her panties—mouthing her through the material. She moaned loudly, her head falling to the side. Rising up on her toes, she arched her back and rolled her toes—pressing herself deeper into his mouth.

Using his index finger, he pulled the material between her legs aside. Her mound was wet—dripping with anticipation—and he bent to taste her. His tongue parted her as he licked up her slit. At the top, he easily found her extended clitoris and flicked it lightly.

Her cry was animalistic and she spread her legs wider—allowing him easier access.

Holding her legs open with his shoulders, he sucked at her clit until she cried out again. He then surprised her by thrusting two fingers deep inside of her. Her walls clenched around his digits, and gloved them tightly. He growled and the vibrations tickled her enlarged bud. He quickened the pace of his fingers, and Hermione felt her release building. Bucking against his hand, she gasped as his long fingers hit the right spots deep within her.

Unexpectedly, he added a third finger. Arching her back, Hermione moaned his name as she was stretched. He skillfully bit gently on her clit—exactly what she needed. Her orgasm exploded through her body. Her eyes rolled back in her head as her muscles contracted tightly around his fingers. Gasping, she tried to catch her breath.

She was vaguely aware of Draco crawling from between her legs and up her body. His weight covered her once more and she felt his lips on hers. His tongue probed her mouth and she could taste herself on it.

She could also feel his now rock-hard erection straining through his pants. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she rocked her hips up into it and he hissed against her mouth. Reaching down, she groped at him once more. He bucked against her hand, pressing himself into her palm—hard. She blindly fumbled at his fly and zipper. Once she got his pants down to his thighs, he was able to kick them off.

"I need you . . . inside of me . . ." Hermione panted as she rocked her hips up into his again.

Hastily, Draco discarded his silk boxers—freeing his hardened length of flesh.

Hermione heard the cellophane of the condom wrapper, raised her head just as he sheathed himself, and gasped. He was much bigger than in her dream. Suddenly, she was terrified that it would hurt.

He reached down and ripped her thin, soaked panties from her hips.

Looking up at her, he took sight of her face and immediately froze. "Are you sure about this?"

Hermione realized that her inhibitions were plastered across her features and cursed herself silently. Swallowing, she forced a smile on her face. "Absolutely."

"I'll go slow," he promised. Leaning down his lips caressed her ear. "I'm not going to hurt you." It was a whisper that caused her to shudder.

"I know."

Using his hand, he lightly ran the blossoming head of his cock up and down her soaked slit. She could feel arousal burning through her veins once again as she felt the tip of his hardened rod press at her center. With gentle pressure, he pushed into her.

Allowing time for her to adjust to his thickness, Draco pulled out slightly before pushing himself deeper. She was dripping, but still sheathed his member tightly. She felt exquisite around him.

Pushing further, she cried out. He paused until she rocked her hips up into him, urging him deeper. Gritting his teeth, he plunged himself to the hilt. Hermione gasped and moaned as he pulled out. Then, starting a slow rhythm, he drove into her again.

Hermione lifted her hips to meet him, thrust for thrust. She moaned as his organ stroked her deep within her walls. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulled him closer—holding him deeper.

His pace increased and she could feel the softness of the velvet under her back as he thrust into her. Lifting her hands over her head, she fisted the wine colored fabric. Her tits bounced on her chest with Draco's driving force.

Holding himself up on his arms, he watched as Hermione tossed her head on top of a pillow. Her hair splayed in a messy halo around her flushed face. Biting her lip—her eyes closed—she suddenly untwisted her fingers from the comforter and began palming at her breasts. Panting, she pulled at her nipples, twisting them between her fingers.

Draco felt a low growl form in his chest as he watched her pleasure herself. Grabbing her legs, he lifted them to his shoulders and plunged deeper, hitting new spots inside of her. She moaned loudly, and her hands fell from her breasts and twisted back into the material.

"Oh God . . . yes," she breathed. She began chanting his name, urging him on with each thrust.

Draco could feel that he was close to the edge, but he clenched his jaw and changed his speed.

"Draco . . . Draco . . . oh God . . . Draco . . . I'm gonna—" Her words were cut off by her panting. Draco watched as her face flushed a darker scarlet, her impending orgasm nearing. Grinding his teeth, he increased his velocity, plunging his entire length into her. Their skin smacked together, his balls bouncing heavily off of her ass.

With each thrust, her panting grew louder, and he felt the walls of her pussy constrict. Instantaneously, her body tightened and shuddered as she was rocked with another orgasm. He felt her muscles clench—milking him—and her eyes rolled in her head. Draco's jaw was tight as he continued to plunge deeply into her. Breathing heavily, he cried out gutturally as he finally let go and felt his own orgasm explode.

Panting, he fell on top of her. Her eyes closed, she trembled under his body. Gently, he wiped a drop of sweat from her forehead before gently running his fingertips along her face and neck. He could feel her breathing begin to stabilize.

Minutes passed and he felt her chest under his chest begin to rhythmically rise and fall as she was overtaken by sleep. Leaning down, he placed one last kiss on her jaw before he whispered in her ear:

"I thought you wouldn't show tonight . . . but I'm glad that you did."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up . . . I was suffering from some major writer's block. I seriously had to rewrite this thing, like, four times. I'm still not quite sure if I _totally _like this segment, but, it's finally done and I can be happy with that. Thanks for being so patient and thank you all for such a great response to the last chapter. Honestly, it's like Christmas morning every time I check my email. You all are the most amazing fans in the world! Thank you to all who have reviewed (and thanks in advance for those who review later). Your words only drive me to get the next parts up even faster :) Also, thank you for suggestions. I love hearing other points of view. It helps to open up all sorts of options and allows the best one to be picked. So, keep it up, and I will do the same! Thanks again and enjoy the next installment!!_

_Away we go . . . _

**Chapter 5**

Hermione was uncomfortably warm.

Groggily, she pushed the blankets back from her neck to free her arms—and instantly froze when she felt velvet under her fingertips.

_Wine-colored velvet . . . _

Last night's events came blowing back into her consciousness like a freight train.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and scanned her surroundings. It was darker—the candles had burnt themselves out—but even in the gloom, it was recognizable as the same unused classroom on the fourth floor.

Stretching slightly, Hermione vaguely registered Draco's arm draped lazily over her naked breasts.

With her movement, Draco shifted in his sleep and pulled her closer into his body. He nuzzled his face between her shoulder blades—his early morning stubble tickling the smooth skin of Hermione's back—and his breath fell hot and even on her neck.

Stretching again, she blushed faintly as her naked body connected skin-to-skin with Draco's. Her heart fluttered excitedly at the vivid memory of his touch and she felt heat rush between her thighs.

Inhaling deeply, arousal hit her full force. The air smelt distinctly of a mixture of sex, sweat, and Draco's cologne. Leaning heavily into his body, Hermione licked her lips before subtly grinding her ass into Draco's lap.

Draco moaned quietly and shifted against her body. Hermione felt his cock twitch and she ground against him again—hard.

Rousing gradually, Draco drowsily planted a kiss on Hermione's shoulder. "Good morning."

His breath was warm against her ear and Hermione felt her body tingle in anticipation.

"Good morning." Seductively, she wiggled against him again.

Kissing her neck, he gently began running his thumb back and forth over her extended nipple.

Hermione spun in his arms so they were facing each other—side-by-side. Using her nose, she traced his cheekbones, his jaw, and finally, his lips. Tipping her head back, she took his mouth with hers.

As her tongue gently traced his bottom lip, he pulled her closer to him, and her breasts rubbed against his chest. He moaned against her mouth, and Hermione felt his semi-hard erection quiver against her stomach. Hitching her leg over his waist, she tangled her hands through his hair and sucked at his tongue.

Lightly, Draco ran his hand down her back, over her ribs, and across her thigh. Hermione shuddered as his hand grabbed her ass and pulled her closer. Slowly, his fingers tiptoed over her hip and disappeared between her legs.

Hermione inhaled sharply and arched her back—breaking their kiss.

"You are _so_ wet." His voice was husky—thick.

Breathless, Hermione made a blatant point: "Maybe . . . it's because . . . of your—"

Draco moved his fingers and her broken gasp cut off her sentence as her body jerked. "Fingers."

"And, if I were to do this?"

Without warning, Draco pushed her onto her back. Pinning her wrists down on either side of her head, he bent and sucked her nipple into the warm cavern of his mouth. Hermione arched toward him and moaned his name as he lavished her breast.

Panting, Hermione suddenly heard a muffled sound and froze beneath Draco's body. Holding her breath, she strained her ears, but couldn't hear over the sound of Draco's talented tongue.

She tried to silence him with a whispered "shhh," but he ignored her as he moved to the other breast.

The noise sounded again, and she pulled at his hands—her heart pounding. He released her wrists and she pushed at his shoulders.

"Draco . . . stop."

He looked up at her from between her tits, confusion on his face. "What?"

"Do you hear that?"

Draco stared off into the darkness and listened intently for a few seconds before turning back toward her. "I don't hear anything."

Hermione's heart still drummed against her ribcage. "What time is it?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know . . . sometime around 4?"

She pondered that for a brief second and froze again when the same sound hit her ears—it was like someone was scratching on the door. "There . . . did you hear that?"

Draco sat up with her hissed words, his eyes wide. "Yeah."

"What is it?" Hermione whispered savagely.

Before Draco had a chance to answer, a cat meowed mutedly.

Draco looked at Hermione, his mouth formed in a silent 'O.' "Oh, shit . . . it's Mrs. Norris." His words came out in a strangled giggle.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows at him before scolding him in a harsh whisper. "I'd hardly say this is funny. It's _way _past curfew." Carefully, she looked around the tiny room. "What do we do? Filch'll be right behind her."

Draco smiled mischievously. "Already have that figured out. C'mon . . . grab our things and follow me."

Hermione wrapped a blanket around herself before getting to her feet. Squinting through the darkness, she was able to find the majority of their belongings. Crumpling them in her arms, she turned to find Draco.

But he was nowhere to be seen.

"Psst . . . over here."

His whispered voice sounded far away and Hermione blindly made her way toward the sound.

Draco was kneeling beside an open crawlspace, a blanket haphazardly wrapped around his waist. Smiling, he swept his arm toward the opening. "Ladies first."

Hermione hesitated. Crouching, she peered into the darkness of the opening, her heart thudding loudly in her ears.

"It's okay . . . I promise," Draco whispered almost inaudibly as he gently stroked her hair back from her face.

Hermione looked at him out of the corner of her eye—still unsure—when Filch suddenly began to talk to Mrs. Norris directly outside the door.

Draco's eyes widened. "Go . . . go, go, go." He pushed frantically at her.

Hermione's mind went blank. Hastily she ducked her head under the wall and was instantly cloaked in darkness. Awkwardly, she pulled herself backward, making passage for Draco. Draco appeared a moment later, crawling quickly on his hands and knees. As his feet cleared the entrance, he turned, pulled the grate back in front of the crawl space, and locked it into place.

Seconds later, the heavy door of the classroom creaked open. Draco hurriedly scooted backward into the darkness. Grabbing Hermione's hand he signaled her to be quiet by placing his finger over his lips.

Not daring to breath, they listened as feet shuffled noisily into the room.

Filch held his lantern up over his head as he took a step into the room. Mrs. Norris wound around his ankles frantically.

"What have you found here, my pet?"

Rubbing against his pant leg, she meowed loudly in response. Filch took another step into the room, and cursed loudly when his lantern lit up the disheveled blankets.

"Dirty rotten kids . . ." Filch's voice raised an octave before dropping down to an incoherent mumble. Angrily, he began stomping around the room, kicking blankets and candles.

Draco quickly covered his mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

All at once, Mrs. Norris meowed loudly, mere inches from the metal grate. Draco's laugh died in his throat as Hermione gripped his fingers tightly.

"Have you got something, my love?" Filch hurried over, his lantern over his head. Light spilled through the steel grate, illuminating Draco's feet. Instantaneously, Draco pulled his feet closer to his chest and out of the light. He slid backwards into Hermione, pushing her up against the wall. His fingers groped through the pile of clothes that Hermione held until his fingers touched his black cashmere sweater. Grabbing it, he hastily pulled it over his head. Then, he pressed his body against hers, bending his head into her hair—shielding them from Filch's lantern.

They could hear as Filch struggled to get on his knees. As he bent lower, the light from the lantern lengthened, lighting more of the darkened cavern.

Hermione pushed her back against the wall. Turning her face to the side, she felt panic swell in her chest as her cheek touched the familiar stickiness of a spider web. Gasping, she frantically clawed at her face.

Filch froze momentarily, listening intently.

Immediately, Draco grabbed her and pulled her harshly into his body. With her hands over mouth, Hermione shivered against his upper body, her face still crawling.

"Wand . . ." Draco breathed quietly as he leaned further from the light.

Hermione's fingers fumbled quietly through the pile of their belongings before her hand wrapped around the unfamiliar shape of Draco's wand. Handing it to him, she reburied her face into his shoulder—trying to conceal as much of her pale skin as possible.

The light stretched even further, catching the very edge of Draco's blanket. Quickly, he aimed his wand through the grate and mumbled under his breath—_Wingardium Leviosa!_

Across the room, a textbook rose silently from an unfilled bookcase. Draco swished his wand and the book sailed across the room. It landed near the door, shattering the silence, and Mrs. Norris hissed loudly.

Swearing, Filch pushed himself to his feet. "I've got you now, you little brats . . ." He turned quickly on his heel, "Quick, precious! Find them!"

Draco watched as the bouncing light from his lantern dimmed and finally disappeared altogether, blanketing them once more in total darkness.

Draco breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Hermione refused to move. In the darkness, she kept her eyes closed and pulled herself against Draco's strong chest. Inhaling, she could still smell the faint smell of his cologne woven within the soft material. Draco pulled her closer, stroking her hair gently.

Finally, Hermione lifted her head. Her heart still thudded loudly in her chest.

Draco smiled at her. "Whew . . . that was close." Delicately, he traced her cheekbone with the back of his fingertips. "Are you okay?"

Hermione nodded shakily, the color in her face returning.

Draco laughed silently and held her face between his palms. "You're a terrified mess." Before she could respond, he planted a light kiss on her lips.

Hermione remained rigidly contorted in his arms. Claustrophobia was beginning to set in as the darkness quickly started to close in on her and her skin was crawling with the idea of the bugs and spider webs that occupied the crawlspace with them.

Breathing heavily, her plea was an anxious whisper. "Can we please get out of here?"

Draco laughed again before kissing her forehead. "Yeah . . . of course."

Carefully, he turned the latch and pushed the grate onto the floor. Crawling, he exited the small space first before holding his hand out to her. Shakily, she gripped his fingers and awkwardly wriggled out.

Cool air hit her face and she inhaled deeply. Her heart was finally beginning to settle within her chest and she was perfectly content to sit on the floor, her blanket wrapped tightly around her body as Draco crawled back into the space to get their belongings.

He reemerged and handed Hermione her clothing. Slipping his trousers on, he turned and replaced the grate—locking it into place.

Hermione quickly slipped her jeans on over her hips. After buttoning them, she bent and retrieved her sweater. Turning her back on Draco, she let the blanket slip from her body and began to pull the sweater over her head.

Draco spun from the crawlspace entrance just in time to see the thin sweater roll gently down her smooth back. He stared at her—a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to be close to her—to touch her—but he also felt an uncontrollable urge to _know _her. Suddenly, the idea of her leaving him that night seemed much more eternal.

Taking a quick step forward, he wrapped his arms around her waist. She started at his touch, but quickly relaxed into his arms.

"What is that for?" She asked, gently running her fingertips up and down his forearms.

"Don't go tonight . . ." His quiet request was spoken in her hair. "Filch is gone . . . he won't come back."

Hermione spun to face him. "I have to go . . ."

"Don't you want to stay?" His face fell. The hurt that she had seen before returned to his silvery eyes.

Lightly, she caressed his jaw line with her fingers. "Of course I do . . . but, my roommates will notice that I'm gone." She sighed unhappily. "They probably already have . . ."

Resolutely, he sighed. "Fine . . . but I'm walking you up to your Common Room."

Hermione shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but he lightly pinched her lips between his fingers.

Sincerely, he looked into her eyes. "I'm taking you."

It wasn't a request, and Hermione knew it. Caving, she nodded silently.

Pleased, Draco released her lips and took her hand in his. Gathering their remaining things, they walked to the door and quietly looked out into the hallway.

The hallway was once more deserted—Filch and Mrs. Norris long gone. Double-checking both ways, Draco pulled Hermione out into the corridor and took off at a rapid jog toward the stairs.

Hermione struggled to keep up, only able to catch her breath at doorways and corners when Draco checked to see that the coast was clear of the Hogwarts caretaker and his lousy cat. By the time they reached the seventh floor tower, Hermione was gasping for breath.

Draco turned to her, his eyes shining. "Well, here you are—safe and sound."

Resting against the wall, Hermione smiled at him. "Thank you," she managed between breaths.

Draco leaned his arms on either side of her head. He looked deep into her eyes as he spoke. "Say you'll meet me again."

This time, Hermione didn't hesitate. "When?"

A wide smile lit up Draco's face. "I'll send for you." Slowly, he leaned in and kissed her deeply. She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling the heat from his body through the thin material of her sweater.

Finally, she leaned back and broke their kiss—yet her hands remained on his shoulders. "You know, you're really not _all _bad."

Draco smiled lopsidedly. "Just don't let that get out around school."

As he leaned in to kiss her again, neither one noticed as the sleeping Fat Lady cracked one eye open. Silently, her jaw dropped.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I got the suggestion to look at things from Draco's point of view . . . to delve into his inner thinkings. And I thought it was a really good spin. So, I'm giving it my best shot. It was a challenge trying to think like Draco, but I kinda liked it. So, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it (and I hope I did his thoughts justice) :) Oh, and feel free to keep up the suggestions!! I love hearing what you guys have to say!_

_Onward and upward . . . _

**Chapter 6**

In the Slytherin Common Room, Draco felt tortured.

Three days had passed since the tryst with Filch—and Draco had spent the majority of the time in isolation trying to figure out his muddled thoughts.

Reasoning had somehow found its way into his head and continuously, he was faced with dilemma after dilemma.

_She's Hermione Granger . . . _

_Brainiac __Gryffindor__ . . . _

_Best friends with __**Harry**__**Potter**__ . . . _

He felt his chest tighten painfully as his mind grazed another thought—a thought that suddenly became the final nail in her coffin.

_And she's a mudblood . . . _

His stomach knotted around itself as he thought of the derogatory term that he used much too often.

He suddenly heard his own, cruel voice loudly in his ears—his malicious voice of logic.

_But, she _is_. _

He shook his head, as if to physically shake the thought from his head. The voice continued scornfully.

_Her blood is dirty . . . _

_And she doesn't belong with a Pure._

Trying to ignore his thoughts, he idly flipped through the newest edition of the _Daily Prophet_. His eyes scanned the words, but they didn't register.

A new thought entered his head: _My father is going to kill me . . . _

Irritably, he shut the newspaper in his hand before slamming it down on the end table.

Crabbe and Goyle jumped and looked up in surprise.

Ignoring them, Draco agitatedly drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa before he sighed and stood. He ran an absentminded hand through his slicked back hair and began to restlessly pace in front of the couch.

Crabbe looked at Goyle—confusion etched on his face—before turning back to Draco. "Um . . . Drake? You okay?"

Draco stopped pacing and heatedly stared at his friend. He narrowed his eyes in disgust at him. "Why does everything I do have to be _your _business?"

Crabbe recoiled,—opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water—but Draco waved an impatient hand to keep him silent. "Whatever."

Grumbling under his breath, Draco's eyes turned a dark grey. Raising his voice and his eyes, he looked toward Crabbe and Goyle, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm going to my room now . . . if that's okay with you."

Not waiting for an answer, Draco spun on his heel, and angrily stalked out of the room leaving his friends silently nodding in bewilderment.

Slamming the door of his private room shut, Draco paced like an annoyed tiger. He was anxious . . . edgy . . . and even worse, temperamental. Falling backward, he flopped onto his king-sized bed, his arms over his head. Sighing, he stared at the ceiling.

Hermione's quite voice echoed in his subconscious. "Why me? Why now?"

Truthfully, he didn't know . . . and—as he lay silently in his bedroom—he _still_ didn't know.

There were so many reasons screaming at him—telling him he was an idiot . . . and yet, there was something that pulled him toward her . . . something from deep within his core.

Suddenly, he came to a realization: Truthfully, all reasoning aside, he _wanted _to be with her. He _wanted_ to be with _Hermione Granger_.

His head was beginning to hurt and he closed his eyes.

Without meaning to, her face suddenly materialized onto the back of his eyelids.

Leisurely, his eyes traced the lines of her face—her chocolate eyes, her small nose, the contour of her cheek, and the fullness of her lips.

In his vision, Hermione licked her lips slowly, before sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. Biting her lip, she smiled seductively at him, her dark eyes heavy lidded.

Draco felt his body tingle as he remembered the taste of her lips—of her tongue.

He remembered the feeling of her nails gently raking up his back, pulling his body into hers. He remembered the feeling of her breasts against his chest—of her hard nipples in his mouth.

He thought of her mouth again—her talented mouth—and he felt himself harden at the thought of it on his cock. How would she use her mouth? Her tongue?

Her breath would be hot as her tongue swirled around the tip. Looking into his eyes, she would take him—his length disappearing into her perfect mouth.

Draco groaned. He could feel his heart beat heavily in his chest—his breathing beginning to labor—as he thought of her small nails scraping lightly down his hardened flesh.

She would take him deep.

_How deep? _

All the way . . . her nose would press into his stomach as she took him deep down her throat.

Draco shook his head—his eyes still closed.

_No. _

She wouldn't be able to take all of him. She would use her hands to pump what couldn't fit in her mouth as she sucked at him—hard. She would lick down the length and take his balls into her mouth as her hand worked at the tip.

Draco felt the fabric of his pants begin to strain. Absentmindedly, he tried to adjust himself, his hand cupping his growing bulge.

She would take him in her mouth again, her head bobbing up and down. He would twist his fingers though her hair, pumping into her warm orifice. She would moan, and the vibrations from her voice would nearly send him over the edge. He would pant her name . . . Hermione . . . Hermione . . . _Hermione . . . _

"Hermione."

Draco's husky voice startled him as he throatily said her name, and his eyes snapped open.

He was still in his room—alone.

Panting, he realized that his fantasy had driven him to distractedly begin to thrust against his cupped hand. His full erection exhorted painfully against his zipper.

"Jesus Christ . . ."

He felt like a 12-year old going through puberty again.

Groaning, he scrubbed his hands over his face. His pulse had begun to stabilize, but his mouth was dry and he still felt hot—the reverie still fresh in his mind.

Sitting up, he inhaled sharply as the stiff material of his pants scraped over the tip of his erection. Shifting his hips, he adjusted himself carefully, pulling at the now-too-tight fabric.

Shutting his eyes again, he tried to think of anything to cool him down, but Hermione—and her damned mouth—kept swimming into his visions.

Sighing heavily, Draco stood slowly. Cautiously, he walked over to his trunk.

His eyes rolled back in his head as he stepped too quickly, and his pants shifted against his arousal.

Breathing heavily—and with great care—he lifted the lid and grabbed a clean towel. Throwing it over his shoulder, he walked slowly to his door and gradually made his way to the shower.

***************************************************

Draco was thankful that it was still early enough in the evening that the showers were empty. Turning the water on, he let it run over his open hand for a brief minute before he was satisfied with the temperature. Then, he threw his towel over a hook and began to undress.

With one hand, he loosened the tie of his school uniform and pulled it over his head. His fingers quickly unbuttoned two buttons of his dress shirt—just enough to get it over his head—and he threw it in a pile on the floor. Taking a calming breath, he gently unfastened his belt and unbuttoned the top button of his pants. With slow and steady fingers, he pulled the zipper down, cringing as the roughness of the fastener grazed the overly sensitive head of his erection.

Hooking his fingers in the waistband of his pants and boxers, he pulled them carefully over his hips and let them fall to the floor. As they fell down his legs, he felt agitated as his erection sprang out, long and hard. Looking at it only brought back the vivid daydream of Hermione, and he felt his body begin to tingle again.

He was frustrated—in more ways than one.

He growled deep in his throat at his weakness.

Angrily, he kicked the pile of clothes out of the way and stepped into the shower.

The water cascaded over his body. Sighing, he dropped his head and allowed the warm water to massage his neck. Leaning his hands on the wall, he stretched his shoulders and back and allowed the shower to work at his knotted muscles. Rolling his neck on his shoulders, he felt some of his tension melt away.

Taking the soap in his hands, he idly lathered it between his hands. He felt the steam beginning to blanket his body as he slipped his hands in lazy circles across his pectorals.

His eyes closed and he began to think about what it would feel like to have Hermione with him right now . . . what it would feel like to slip his soapy hands on Hermione's wet body—to slide them over her thin shoulders and across her perky breasts.

He would love to take her in the shower. Their bodies slipping against each other would feel amazing. As the water poured over their naked bodies, he would kiss her passionately. He could push her up against the wall and her legs would wrap around his waist.

Or, he could bend her over and take her from behind. He imagined how her smooth back would look, slick with water as he thrust into her. She would be so wet—the water from the shower adding extra lubrication—as his cock slid in and out of her.

His erection convulsed painfully, brutally tearing him from his second erotic fantasy.

Angrily, he cursed at his weakness again.

Determinedly, he reached out and gripped the handle to the hot water. Gritting his teeth, he snapped his wrist—cutting off the flow.

The cold water took his breath away. Immediately his mind went blank as his senses screamed in pain.

It didn't take long before he began to shiver. Wrapping his arms around his body, he forced himself to stand beneath the freezing water until all erotic thoughts subsided. He could feel his body wilting . . . all electricity gone.

When his teeth began to chatter, he fumbled for the hot water. His hands shook as he turned the knob. As the hot water slowly returned, his convulsions began to subside.

The shock to his system had definitely cleared his mind of all erogenous thought and allowed room for reasoning to return—louder than ever.

He needed to figure this out—and there was no room (and no time) for emotional or sexual misleadings.

He wasn't used to dilemma in his life. Dilemma wasn't a part of the Malfoy vocabulary. His life was simple: Know what you want, and get it—no matter what the cost . . . as long as it didn't disgrace the Malfoy name.

Well, he knew what he wanted . . .

He wanted _her._

But she was a mudblood, and he was a Pure . . . and there was no way that he could have her without being disowned.

The cost was too great.

So, _why_ did he want her?

He had been with a lot of women—another perk of the Malfoy name . . . yet, he had never wanted one as badly as he wanted Hermione.

She was somehow different than them all. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was just _something_ about her. There was something about the way she looked at him . . . about the way she touched him . . . and about the way she stayed on his mind.

He wasn't known for caring about the women he was with. They were merely for pleasure . . . completely expendable . . . and easily forgotten.

Yet, he couldn't seem to forget her. It was like she had a power over him.

Obviously, she had a physical power over him, but—unlike the other females he had been with—she also seemed to have an emotional power over him.

He actually seemed to give a damn about her. He didn't know why, but he found that he cared about what she felt, what she thought, and what made her happy. And that made him feel weak.

He suddenly heard his father's voice—angry and firm—echo in his head. He scolded him for his fragility. He was a Malfoy . . . and he was letting something as trivial as _emotions_ and a woman break him down.

Draco pondered this for a moment and he slowly felt his protective wall being rebuilt. He felt a hardening in his chest as his father's proverbial words began to make sense.

He was Draco Malfoy, dammit, and he _wouldn't _let a woman control him like this—especially one like Hermione Granger.

The answer was suddenly very clear in his mind. He needed to break this fling off. There was no other option. Because that's exactly what it was . . . a _fling_.

A lust-filled fling.

Her power over him was merely in his head—it was as simple as that.

She was no good for him . . . because she was no good for the Malfoy name.

Because . . . no matter what . . . at the end of the day, that's exactly what he was: A Malfoy.

Setting his jaw, he turned off the shower and quickly toweled off. He threw his clothes back on and hurried back to his room. Drawing a comb through his platinum hair, he slicked it back from his face before looking at the clock.

It was hardly 8:00.

There was still plenty of time before curfew.

Holding firm to his decision, he hastily tied his shoes onto his feet and walked to his bedroom door.

He didn't know where she was, but he needed to find her—tonight. Because, this was going to end.

No questions asked.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thank you all for being so patient with me!! I am VERY sorry it took so long to update. My sister went into false labor on Tuesday, so . . . needless to say, my mind has been on something else all week. But, I made sure this chapter was extra long for you all. Plus, I've got the next one in my head, so I should hopefully be able to get it down before my nephew is _really_ here. Cuz, I have a feeling that I might be a little more susceptible to distraction after that day comes :) Thank you once again for all of the support and words of encouragement. You guys rock!! I look forward to hearing from you all every single day. _

_Alrighty . . . 3, 2, 1 . . . Blastoff!_

**Chapter 7**

The Great Hall was quickly clearing out. Hermione pushed her now cold food aimlessly around her plate. Her friends had left nearly an hour ago, but she didn't feel like facing anybody. She looked over to the deserted Slytherin table, even though she knew what she would see.

She hadn't seen Draco in the Great Hall for nearly two days now. The table was always crowded, but his chair remained empty. She worriedly wondered when he was eating. In fact, she had seen little of Draco at all since their meeting three days ago. During their classes together, he arrived late and left early—if he even showed up at all. Every so often, she would try to catch his gaze, but he refused to make any sort of eye contact with her.

He was ignoring her—and it hurt.

New ideas began to swarm into her head—ideas that infected her thoughts:

_It was _her_. She did something._

_Of _course_ he was ignoring her . . . she was plain . . . a nothing . . . _

She replayed their time together over and over in her mind.

_Was it something she said? Something she did?_

_Or, was she just another one of his conquests . . . another notch in his bedpost._

She felt sick at the thought . . . but it made sense. Why would someone like _Draco Malfoy_ want a nobody like her? She felt used, confused . . . and her life got more complicated every day.

Rumors were circulating and Gryffindor Tower was abuzz.

It hadn't taken long for the Fat Lady to open her Fat mouth and the last three days had been unbearable for Hermione. Thankfully, the Fat Lady had been unable to see Draco's face—but, in a sense, that made things worse. Now, the conversation always seemed to cycle around who the mystery man was that Hermione Granger was snogging hours past curfew. She couldn't go anywhere without hearing whispered accusations.

Her friends attempted to be normal around her, but she could even see the curiosity in their eyes. She couldn't even tell Ginny—her best friend. And it was killing her slowly.

Miserably, she pushed her plate aside and stood up. With one backwards glance toward the Slytherin table, she slowly made her way toward the staircase.

Dread filled her with each floor that she passed. As she began the final staircase to the 7th floor tower, she mentally prepared herself for what was to come.

Before she even reached the top, familiar voices echoed down to her. Listening, she hesitantly continued her way forward until she reached the landing.

"Who was he?"

A large group of Gryffindors were hovering around the portrait of the Fat Lady, looking much too interested in her gossip.

The Fat Lady puffed out her chest importantly—obviously enjoying all of the extra attention. "I don't know . . . It was dark and I couldn't see his face."

Seamus Finnigan stroked his chin thoughtfully before carefully thinking aloud. "He has to be from another House, though . . . . Otherwise, he would have come in with her."

Standing beside him, Dean Thomas nodded enthusiastically. He kept his eyes trained on the portrait in front of him. "Did you see any distinguishing colors on his robes?"

The Fat Lady smiled as if hiding a secret. "He wasn't wearing his school robes . . . just dark weekend clothing."

Hermione felt heat engulf her face. Boldly, she took a step forward.

"Oh, get a hobby!" she said in aggravation as she pushed her way through the crowd to get to the Fat Lady.

"Oh, c'mon Hermione! Just tell us!" Seamus pleaded for the whole group.

Hermione shot him an icy stare. "NO!"

A voice sounded from the back. "Just tell us what House he's in!"

"No!" Hermione repeated through clenched teeth. "And you . . . ." Turning angrily, she jabbed her finger toward the Fat Lady. "You can mind your own damn business. _Your_ job is to hear passwords and open . . . and that's _it_. So, you can keep your falsified gossip to yourself!"

The Fat Lady glared at Hermione, her bottom lip jutting out.

Hermione held her ground and stared back angrily.

Finally, the Fat Lady succumbed and opened her mouth. "Password?" Her voice dripped with scorn.

Hermione paid no attention. Instead, she spat the password out and stepped through the painting as soon as it swung open. As it closed, the Fat Lady stuck her tongue out at Hermione's back.

As she entered the Common Room, a sudden hush came over her fellow Gryffindors. Her face suddenly grew hot. Slowly, she looked around—her heart pounding—but nobody would look her in the eye. Conveniently, everyone seemed to find something a little more important to look at as she turned her attention to them.

Taking a deep breath, she placed her hands on her hips. "You know . . . you could all have the audacity to talk to my face." There wasn't much power behind her voice, but it was decibels louder than the sickening silence that encased the room.

Someone awkwardly cleared their throat as she looked around the room again. Some of her peers looked shamefully down at their shoes. Others idly flipped through random books. Others still picked at their hands.

Slowly oscillating, Hermione felt the familiar sting of hot tears at the corners of her eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to cry in front of her so-called friends.

Turning her head, she suddenly felt her heart drop. Over by the fireplace,—partially hidden by the crowd—Hermione noticed the unmistakable disheveled mop of Ron's bright red hair. He had his back turned from her, his head bowed on his shoulders as if he had been caught and didn't want to be seen.

A single tear fell from her eye as she became aware of two other bodies standing by Ron—one with equally bright red hair, and the other with hair as dark as a moonless night. And—just like Ron—Ginny and Harry were blatantly ignoring her.

Staring directly at their backs, she hoped they could feel her eyes on them. "Cowards." She spat the word out as if it were fire in her mouth.

Ginny lifted her head, her eyes glistening. Catching Hermione's gaze, she opened her mouth as if to say something.

Hermione quickly held her hand to her, signaling her to stop. She could feel her throat closing with emotion and she was forced to look away.

Shaking her head slowly, she looked around once more. Some of the Gryffindors had lifted their eyes to her—looking embarrassed.

Hermione could feel her tears of frustration begin to fall down her face. She inhaled shakily. "You should all be ashamed of yourselves."

It was hardly louder than a whisper, but it spoke volumes.

Not waiting for a response, Hermione bolted for the stairs that led the girls' dormitory. Her eyes blurred with tears as she took the stairs two at a time.

Slamming the door of her dorm shut, she fell face first onto her bed, her tears flowing from her eyes in a steady stream.

She was hurt—hurt by Draco, hurt by her House, and now, hurt by her friends.

Bringing her knees to her chest, she curled around them, hugging them tightly with her arms. She was more confused now than ever . . .

Chances were Draco didn't want anything to do with her . . . so everything that she had occurred over the last three days only made her life a complicated mess. And she's the one who had put herself into the position. She had blatantly set herself up for the pain she was experiencing now. She should have just stayed away from him . . . they weren't supposed to be together. Then at least she would still have her friends.

Sniffling against her arm, she forced herself to breath deeply. Her tears were beginning to dry, but the hole that she felt in her chest remained open and painfully raw.

Her eyelids were beginning to get heavy as she lay in the darkness, breathing slowly. Finally, she surrendered—her eyelashes fluttering down onto her pale cheeks.

**************************************************

Tapping on the glass of her window brought Hermione from her sleep.

She had been dreaming about Draco, and although she felt happy in her sleep, as soon as her eyes opened, she felt the hurt once again return to her chest.

Stretching, she looked around the dark deserted room, wondering what had woken her.

The tapping sounded again, and Hermione snapped her head toward the window—her heart pounding. Slowly, she pushed herself up from the bed and made her way across the room.

Looking outside, she was surprised to see one of the plain owls from the Owlery hovering impatiently outside of her tower. Reaching out, she opened the glass and the owl immediately perched on the sill. He ruffled his feathers in annoyance as he waited for Hermione to untie the note that was tied to his leg.

Hermione took the note gently between her fingers. The owl hooted once—obviously expecting some sort of reward for the delivery.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry . . . I don't have anything."

The owl hooted again—angrier this time—before he spread his wings and flew back out into the darkness.

Hermione watched it disappear back toward the Owlery before she looked down at the rolled piece of parchment in her hands. Unrolling it with shaking fingers, she felt her heart skip a beat as she looked down at unfamiliar handwriting. It was immaculate and the swooping and spiraling letters looked almost majestic. Without reading the words, Hermione knew that the handwriting belonged to Draco.

I need to see you.

Meet me at the Quidditch Pitch at 9:00.

Her head snapped toward the glowing clock: 8:45.

Her heart began to pound deep within her chest, but she didn't have time to think. Grabbing her cloak, she threw it hastily over her shoulders. Glancing in the mirror quickly, she rubbed at her face—trying to erase all signs of her emotional breakdown.

Leaving her room, she walked rapidly down the stairs. She kept her eyes trained in front of her as she entered the Common Room. Walking with a purpose, she refused to look at anything but the exit.

She didn't care what they thought anymore . . .

They could talk all they wanted.

Pushing her way though the portrait of the Fat Lady, she was relieved to see that the corridor was empty of loitering Gryffindors. Hurriedly, she began the downward trek down the stairs.

Cool autumn weather hit her in the face as she opened the heavy entrance door. Wrapping her cloak tighter around her, she quickly glanced both ways before heading out into the darkness.

She began the long walk across the grass to the Quidditch Pitch, and soon found herself jogging to make sure that she was there on time. She was panting by the time the Pitch loomed out of the darkness. Taking a few deep breaths, she tried to calm down before entering.

She was unable to calm her beating heart, though, because she suddenly saw the cloaked figure of Draco pacing in front of the entrance like a caged animal.

As she watched him from a distance, she was surprised as a calming euphoria washed over her.

Suddenly, it was all worth it again.

Draco ran a hand through his hair as he paced. Over and over, he repeated the words that he would say to her. He was standing firm to his decision.

Leaves crunched to his left, and he looked up—startled. He saw her standing close, her chest heaving as she attempted to catch her breath, her cloak blowing out behind her—and suddenly, his practiced words were gone.

He took two steps toward her, and she was instantly in his arms, tears wracking her body. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms tighter around her, his hand gently petting her head.

She clung to him as if he were her air. Her breath came out in ragged sobs against his neck.

He breathed deeply as he held her, intoxicated by the subtle scent that floated from her hair. Her body felt fragile in his arms as he quietly consoled her.

Her sobs finally ceased, yet she still clung to him, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

Draco listened to her breath as he held her tightly—patiently—until she was ready to pull away.

Finally, Hermione straightened and hastily ran her hand under her nose. Embarrassed about her sudden emotional outburst, she looked away from his probing eyes. Her voice was thick when she tried to speak. "I'm sorry . . . I-I didn't mea—"

Holding her at an arms length, Draco gently placed a finger over her lips—stopping her. She looked up at him, her eyes still glistening.

Carefully, he searched her face—his eyes filled with concern. It hurt to see her in such pain. Lightly, he ran his hands up and down her biceps. "What's wrong?"

She simply shook her head—her eyes tearing again—as she was unable to find the words. Ashamed, she dropped her eyes to the ground.

Placing his fingers gently under her chin, Draco pulled her face up to his again. He looked deeply into her eyes as he delicately brushed away a stray tear with his fingertips. "What is it?"

Hermione waved an absentminded hand. "Everything's a mess . . ."

Draco furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "What do you mean _everything_?"

Flashbacks of the last three days rushed into Hermione's mind—memories of the gossip and rumors—of her friends whispering behind her back, feelings of dejection and hurt . . . confusion . . . and having to bottle it all in. She could feel hot tears threatening to spill over again and she inhaled shakily.

Draco sighed heavily. "C'mon . . . let's sit and you can tell me everything."

Sniffling, Hermione allowed Draco to put his arm around her and escorted her toward the Quidditch observation towers. She leaned into him, feeling safe and secure for the first time in days—even though her mind continued to scream that she shouldn't . . . that he was _Draco Malfoy_ and he meant nothing but harm.

She silenced her thoughts by focusing on the feeling of his arm around her waist as they slowly ascended the stairs. Finally, they reached the top and emerged once more into the cool open air.

Hermione looked around, momentarily disoriented. She had never seen the Quidditch Pitch at night.

It was beautiful.

It loomed—large and vacant—in front of her eyes. The scoring posts were nearly invisible in the dim lighting. Not only that, but Draco had led her to the top of the nearest tower—Ravenclaw's. The angle to the Pitch was completely different than that of the Gryffindor Tower—not to mention that it was shrouded in blue and silver. Their large Eagle crest soared above their heads and looked alien compared to Gryffindor's Lion.

She didn't realize that she had been standing in silence—staring blankly—until Draco gently squeezed her hand with his. "Are you okay?" His voice was soft, worried.

She turned to him and attempted to smile, but it felt forced and fake. Not trusting her voice, she merely nodded.

"You wanna sit?" Draco tipped his head toward the benches that sloped up to the top of the tower.

Hermione nodded once more and allowed Draco to lead her by the hand. They sat side-by-side on the second bench, their feet resting on the first.

She felt electrified sitting that close to him, but she also felt nervous and scared. Aimlessly, she picked at her fingernail, a frown cutting deep lines into her face.

Suddenly, his hand was over hers—hot and comforting. Gently, he held her fingers from fidgeting. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to . . . but I would like to hear why you're so upset."

Hermione felt the familiar hollow in her chest—the deep ache that she had been experiencing for the last three days. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to stop thinking and just let the words come. "Someone saw us . . ."

Draco felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He cleared his throat—trying to make it seem nonchalant. "Who?"

"The Fat Lady. And now—now . . . well . . ."

Draco stuttered. "Wha-? _Who?"_

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. She laughed once when she realized why he was so confused. "The Fat Lady is the portrait that guards Gryffindor Tower."

"You mean a fucking _painting_ is the problem?!"

Hermione softly laughed again. "Yeah . . . well, not only is she the biggest loudmouth of all the paintings, she didn't see your face."

Draco felt a wave of relief wash over him. "So, what's the problem?"

Hermione felt her bottom lip begin to tremble with the question. "She didn't see _you, _but she saw _me_."She felt stupid, but the more she remembered the last three days, the harder it was to stop the tears that were quickly approaching.

Next to her, Draco sighed heavily as he finally understood.

Inhaling deeply, the words she had been holding in for the last 72 hours spilled out, mixed once more with tears. "The last three days have been Hell. It's all they talk about . . . who is he? What House is he in? Why would he want to be with me?"

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione ignored him and continued.

"I can't go anywhere without hearing them. They're constantly whispering . . . avoiding my eye contact, but staring at the same time." She turned to look at him, her face wet. "Do you know what that feels like? To know that _everyone _is judging you . . . and they're not doing much to conceal that fact?"

Wiping her nose with her cloak, she didn't wait for him to answer. Instead, she laughed bitterly. "Of course you don't . . . ." She sniffled before continuing. "And the worst part is—my _friends_" she made finger quotes in the air "are joining the crowd. They're whispering just as much as everyone else. There's just been so much on my mind . . . so much going on . . . and now, this. I . . . I don't know . . . I guess I've just felt trapped. And I can't talk to anybody about it." Ashamed, she quickly wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

"You could have talked to me."

Hermione scoffed. "I thought you were ignoring me . . . that you didn't want anything to do with me. I mean . . . I haven't seen you in days."

Draco felt his stomach knot around itself. "No . . . no, it wasn't that. For the last three days, it's like a constant war going on in my head. I just needed to figure some things out."

Hermione knew exactly what he meant. "And, did you?"

Tipping his head up to the sky, Draco licked his lips. "I thought I did . . ."

"You're not so sure anymore?" Although Hermione didn't like the way the conversation was suddenly going, she felt better by talking about it.

Draco turned his eyes from the stars that were beginning to appear and trained them on her face. "No . . . I'm sure."

_I think . . . _

Delicately, he took her face between his hands and kissed her lightly.

Sighing, she turned her head and looked over the darkened Pitch. "Draco . . . what are we doing here? I mean . . . this is nuts, right?"

Draco dropped his hands into his lap. He shrugged lightly. "I don't know . . . I don't know about a lot of things anymore."

"Is this wrong?"

"I'm not sure about that either. But, if _you _think it's wrong . . . I mean, if it's going to cause more problems . . . I'm more than willing to walk away."

The hole in Hermione's chest opened painfully at the thought, but she didn't know what to say.

"Hermione?"

She looked up in surprise. It was odd to hear him call her by her first name.

He looked at her seriously. "What do you want? What would make _you _happy?"

_You._

Her mind screamed the word, but she was unable to say it. Instead, she shrugged. "I'm not quite sure if I've figured that one out yet."

They sat in silence for a few moments listening to the night—an owl hooted near the trees, a group of students were laughing as they walked across the green, the wind scattered leaves noisily.

Suddenly, Hermione shivered violently.

Taking her hands between his, he looked at her in concern. "You're freezing."

It was only at that moment that she realized how cold it had gotten. Her body tightened as another spasm ran from her legs to her shoulders. She tried to stop her shaking. "No . . . I'm fine." Her teeth clacked together—ruining her façade.

"Jesus, I don't want you to catch pneumonia." Quickly, Draco undid the fastener of his cloak. Swinging it from his shoulders, he threw it over Hermione's body.

"No . . . really, I'm fine." She protested verbally, but didn't object once the overly large cloak was wrapped around her. It was warm from Draco's body heat and smelt of him. Closing her eyes, she inhaled, reveling in it.

Creating friction, he gently rubbed her hands and arms. "Is that better? Is there any way I can make you warmer?"

_Oh, she knew_ exactly _how he could make her warmer._

She felt heat in her face at the thought. She shook her head, instead. "No, this is perfect." She smiled up at him, but her lips still shivered. "I'm completely warm."

Draco laughed and draped his arm around her. "Liar."

Hermione leaned into his body, her head resting on his chest. With his cloak and the added weight from his arm, she actually was beginning to feel warmer. Closing her eyes, she listened to the steady rhythm of his heart.

Lazily, his fingers played with the ends of her hair. Hermione shivered at the sensation and she suddenly had the idea that she could stay here—just like this—forever.

Minutes passed.

Reaching up, Hermione took the hand that was resting on her shoulder. Pulling it tightly around her, she gently kissed the fingertip of his first finger.

"Make love to me."

It was a whisper that was almost swallowed by the blowing wind, but it sent shivers pulsating down Draco's body.

Immediately, his mind protested: _I don't want this to be about lust!!_

"I don't want to complicate things."

She moved to his middle finger and kissed the tip. "You won't."

"But your friends . . . your House . . . ." As he talked, she kissed his third finger—lightly sucking on the tip. He lost his train of thought as he felt fire beginning to build in his groin.

Hermione licked the length of his pinky before running it around her lips. "I don't care about any of that."

Before he could say anything else, Hermione shifted her weight and swung her leg over his lap. Straddling him, she grabbed his tie and pulled him hungrily to her mouth. Immediately, her tongue began to explore the depths of his mouth.

Groaning, Draco's mind went blank—all logic gone. Placing his hands on her thighs, he ran his palms up under her skirt.

Twisting her hands into his hair—her kiss deepening—she slowly swiveled her hips.

Draco moaned as he felt her heat through his pants.

Hermione could feel him hardening and she rocked against him. Gasping, she felt his straining zipper hit the right spot through her panties.

Panting, Draco dropped his head back, breaking their kiss.

Reluctantly, Hermione slowed her movements until he turned his gaze back to her.

As he watched, she licked her lips seductively and stood. Keeping her eyes trained on his, she purposefully knelt between his legs.

Draco felt his breath catch in his throat as he remembered the fantasy that he had just experienced in his bedroom.

With gentle pressure, Hermione began to rub him through the material.

He groaned as his pants became even tighter.

Nimbly, her fingers went to work on his button and fly. In one fluid motion, she pulled both his pants and boxers down to his knees, freeing his erection. It sprang forward, long and hard, and she felt moisture suddenly pool between her thighs. Gripping it with soft fingers, she looked up at him before timidly reaching her tongue out. Using just the tip, she ran it over his swollen head—tasting him. Like a Popsicle, she began to lick up and down his length.

Her breath was hot and Draco lifted his hips toward her.

With a mischievous smile, Hermione suddenly took him into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around his girth as she took him as deep as she could. Slowly, her head began to bob, her hand pumping what she couldn't take.

Draco leaned back and bit back a groan.

Cupping his balls, she gently ran her nails over the sensitive skin as her head continued to move up and down.

Draco gasped and thrust into her mouth.

Her head moved to the tip and she sucked intensely on his head—her hands continuing to pump him.

Draco gripped her head—his fingers twisting in her hair—and couldn't stop his hips from lifting.

She moaned against him and the vibrations almost sent him over the edge. She took him deep once more and almost gagged as he went down her throat. Pulling back, her mouth released him. Her hands continued to stroke him as her mouth moved to his balls. She sucked one deeply into her mouth, lavishing it with her talented tongue.

Draco was panting. He couldn't think straight as she took the other one into her wet, hot mouth.

Licking her way up the length, she looked him in the eyes as she once more took him in her mouth. She hummed as her head moved feverishly. He thrust into her mouth—making her take him deeper. She relaxed her throat and sucked him as deep as she could.

Draco could feel his release building and gripped her shoulders.

She released him from her mouth. Delicately, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood to face him. With her eyes trained on Draco, she reached underneath her skirt, hooked her fingers in the waistband of her panties, and pulled them down torturously slow.

"I don't have a condom . . ."

Hermione looked at him—her dark eyes clouded with lust. "Then finish in my mouth."

Draco almost blew it right then.

Taking a step forward, she straddled him—still standing. Draco reached out for her hips, but she stopped him by grabbing his wrists. Biting her lip, she shook her head at him. "Nah uh . . . tonight is for you."

Still holding his wrists, she began to lower herself painstakingly. She moaned as his engorged head hit her center. Licking her lips, she rocked her hips against him until the tip entered her.

She stopped and Draco hissed. "That's not fair . . . ." He was panting heavily.

"Who said anything about being—" she lowered herself another inch "—fair."

Draco tried to pull his hands from her grip, but she held firm as she sank a little lower.

She was silky and tight around him. "Oh Jesus . . ."

She abruptly changed direction and began to slide off of him. "Is this what you want?"

Draco growled deep in his throat.

Hermione laughed and sank down again.

Suddenly, Draco thrust his hips upward, filling her to the hilt. Hermione cried out at the sudden assault and Draco quickly covered her mouth with his—swallowing her exclamation.

Draco broke their kiss, his mouth next to her ear. "You need to be quiet . . . we don't want to get caught."

Hermione's heartbeat had filled her ears as she adjusted to his thickness, but she could still hear the faint voices of the students on the green.

She leaned into him, her breath hot in his ear. "That wasn't even fair."

Draco smiled and shifted his hips. "Who said anything about being fair?"

Hermione tried to laugh, but she felt him swell deep between her walls and it took her breath away. Gripping his shoulders, she began to slowly move up and down on him. She moaned quietly as she began a rhythm. Tipping her head back toward the sky, she slid up and down his entire length—teasing him.

He hit her deep within her walls and soon, she was gasping. Her chest heaved as Draco met her thrust for thrust. She could feel her face beginning to flush as she rode him hard.

Draco soon forgot about the nearby students as he focused on the feeling of her slick center gloving his erection. He gripped her hips and helped control the speed.

She pushed him backward so he was leaning on the bench behind them. Totally leaning her body on him, she took him deep, and rocked against him. Her clit hit his pubic bone and she felt her impending climax. Her body rocked harder and faster as she lifted her hips and bounced up and down on his cock.

Draco thrust his hips up into her, sending him deeper inside of her—hitting spots that made her loose her vision. He gripped her ass, taking her deeper still and suddenly, her climax exploded. Her mouth found Draco's to muffle her screams.

As her muscles clenched and unclenched rapidly around Draco's cock. Clenching his jaw, Draco attempted to control his own orgasm. "Jesus . . . Hermione."

Lifting herself from him, she immediately dropped to her knees in front of him. She could taste herself on him as she took him as deep as she could. He thrust into her mouth, his eyes cloudy. With one final thrust, he exploded, sending his seed down Hermione's throat. He groaned as she continued to suck on him for a few more moments.

Spent, he fell backwards—resting against the bench. Hermione crawled up his body and curled herself into the crook of his arm. They lay silently, listening to each other's breathing stabilize.

As he lay there holding her, he suddenly remembered his promise: That this wasn't going to be some lust-filled fling. He felt weak willed and uncontrolled. Frowning, he looked up at the sky.

Hermione reached up and gently traced the worry lines that covered Draco's face. "What's wrong?"

Draco sighed. "I didn't want that to happen."

Hermione reeled suddenly feeling stupid. He mind scrambled for something to say. "Oh . . . um . . . well . . ."

Draco quickly corrected himself. "No . . . no. That came out wrong. That's not what I meant."

Hermione looked confused. "Okay?"

Draco sighed as he tried to explain. "Look, every relationship I've ever had has been fueled by lust. Granted, it's great at the moment, but there always seems to be something missing. Yet . . . with you . . . I don't know. It's different. But it's hard to tell what it is. Is it just some lust-filled fling? Or something more? That's one of the things I was trying to figure out."

Hermione felt her heart begin to pound inside of her chest.

Draco didn't seem to notice as he continued. "I just thought that if we weren't physical,—which you are making _extremely _hard, by the way—we could maybe get to know one another a little better, we could figure it out exactly what we're doing."

Hermione sat in silence, thinking of a response. "Alright," She finally said thoughtfully. "Let's figure it out, then."

Draco looked at her in surprise. "Are you serious?"

Hermione smiled. "Absolutely . . . I think I would like to figure that out as well. I think this is a good idea. We can meet . . . talk . . . write letters . . . whatever, but nothing physical. We'll just get to know one another. I think it'll be good for us . . . perhaps it will even show us some answers."

"Alright," Draco agreed. He felt like a huge weight had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders.

Hermione looked up at the sky. "But, I should probably go . . . it's getting late." Standing, Hermione straightened her skirt, bent down to pick up Draco's cloak, and handed it back to him.

Standing, Draco quickly clothed himself before taking the cloak. He pulled at a stray string between his fingers, suddenly nervous. "When can I see you again?"

Hermione thought momentarily. "How about tomorrow? Same spot, same time?"

"Alright."

Slowly, Draco leaned in to kiss her, but Hermione quickly turned her head to the side. "Nothing physical, remember?"

Draco straightened, surprised at the rejection. "But . . ."

Hermione lightly pinched his lips shut with her fingers. "Hey . . . your rule, not mine." She smiled at him, her eyes almost laughing. "Besides, pretty sure I can hold out longer than you can."

"Oh, you think so, do you?"

Ignoring him, she bent and collected her panties. As she did, her skirt rose and Draco caught sight of the back of her thigh and felt his groin churn. Straightening, she smiled at him once more—totally aware of what she had just done—and made her way toward the stairs, swinging her hips lightly.

As she began her decent down the stairs, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Oh, and make sure you bring _lots_ to talk about tomorrow!" Her voice was a little _too_ cheery.

Draco watched her back as she disappeared down the darkened stairwell.

Although he knew that he had done the right thing, he suddenly couldn't help but wonder: _What had he just gotten himself into?_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Weeks passed and miraculously the agreement remained intact.

At first, it was easy.

During the day, they went about their separate ways. Anytime they were near each other (when they ate, had classes together, or even when they passed each other in the hallway) they were very conscientious about any extended gazes or physical contact that might give them away to their friends.

They had had a close call on one occasion, though. One day, when Hermione was leaving Potions, Draco walked behind her and gently placed his hand on the small of her back. Hermione had turned to catch his eye and noticed Neville Longbottom staring; slack jawed at Draco's slight gesture. Thinking quickly, she had immediately erased all signs of kindness on her face and replaced it with as much disgust as she could muster. Heatedly, she had turned sharply and faced Draco.

"I know it's hard to walk, _Malfoy_, but would you mind keeping your greasy hands off of me?" It made her stomach clench to say the words to him, but thankfully, Neville had immediately snapped his mouth shut, satisfied and oblivious once more.

Then, the nights came and they were finally released from the confinement of the Hell that was the day.

Night—the time of day that Hermione constantly dreamt about. From the time she woke to the time night arrived, it was all that was on her mind. Night was the time when she was able to cut her ties with Gryffindor and finally be with Draco openly.

It had become a consistent schedule. She would finish classes for the day and go to the Great Hall to have supper with her friends. Immediately after, she rushed to the library to get the next day's homework assignments completed. Then, from the library, she would run up to her dorm room. Thankfully, since her outburst in the Common Room, her fellow Gryffindors had ceased with their whispering. Oh, she knew that they still secretly talked about her "Mystery Man" behind her back, but as long as she couldn't hear them everywhere that she went, she didn't care. In her dorm, she would quickly change into warmer clothes, grab her cloak, and run out to meet him.

Since their first meeting at the Quidditch Pitch, they had decided that it was easiest to meet there nightly. Some nights, they would sit—side-by-side—and talk. Or, sometimes they wouldn't talk at all. They felt comfortable enough to merely sit in silence and listen to the night around them. Other nights they leisurely walked hand-in-hand around the lake. With so much open space, and the nights steadily getting colder, it was unusual to see anybody else. However, if they did, there were also enough dark shadows to conceal them.

When they were together, they talked about everything—nothing was off limits. Draco grilled Hermione on growing up in a Muggle environment. He was fascinated to hear about the differences in toys, money, school, and family. Likewise, Hermione listened intently as he recounted growing up in one of the most powerful Wizarding families known to history. They talked about their hopes and dreams—of their aspirations after Hogwarts. They talked about their fears and doubts—of things that upset them, and of embarrassing moments.

Hermione vividly remembered one conversation that took place deep into the night up in the Ravenclaw observation tower:

"_What did you want to do with your life before you found out you were a witch?"_

_Hermione shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Probably become a dentist like my parents. How about you? What did you want to be when you were little?"_

_Draco shrugged as well. "I don't know . . . probably something like my father. Something powerful that makes a lot of money."_

_Draco suddenly felt uncomfortable talking about his family life and immediately changed the subject. Gently, his hand gripped hers—large and warm. She shivered as he lazily began to trace the lines on her palm. His fingers then found a faint jagged scar that ran across the meat of her hand where her thumb connected._

_He outlined it with his finger. "What is this from?"_

_Hermione briefly glanced at it. "Oh that. I fell off of my bike when I was little."_

_Draco's eyebrows furrowed. "Your what?"_

"_My bike . . . you know, my _bicycle_?"_

_Draco stared at her blankly._

_Hermione sighed loudly. "Don't you pay _any _attention in Muggle Studies?"_

_Draco smiled embarrassedly and shrugged._

_Hermione thought of the best way to describe what she was thinking about. "A bicycle . . . um . . . it's like a broom—but with handlebars, pedals, and wheels."_

_Draco's face lit up. "Oh! So, it's like a flying motorcycle!"_

_Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "No . . . it doesn't fly."_

"_Then . . . what would be the purpose?"_

"_You move the pedals with your feet." She demonstrated with her hands—palms facing the ground. "And that makes the wheels move. You know . . . so you go forward."_

_Draco looked appalled. "You mean, it's a form of _transportation_? Physical, laborious transportation?"_

_Hermione laughed. "Yes . . . physical, laborious transportation. But really, it's not that bad. It's actually kind of fun."_

_Draco scoffed. "Fun . . . right." He muttered under his breath. _

_Hermione rolled her eyes, but chose to keep her mouth shut. _

_Draco continued to draw circles around her hand. Turning it over, he found another scar on the top of her hand. "What's this one from?"_

"_Oil burn."_

_The blank look appeared on Draco's face again. _

"_I was cooking and hot oil splashed onto my hand."_

"You _were cooking? Why wasn't your chef—" He cut his words off when Hermione cocked her eyebrow at him incredulously. Sheepishly he smirked. "Oops . . . sorry."_

_In reply, Hermione grabbed his hand. "Alright, Mr. Unyielding . . . your turn. You have to have some scars hidden somewhere on your perfect skin." She twisted his hand between her fingers searching for any imperfections. Moving up his wrist, she pulled the sleeve of his sweater up his arm until she found a jagged circular scar on the top of his forearm. "Aha!!" She pointed at it excitedly with her finger. "There you go . . . tell me about this one."_

_Draco swallowed and looked away._

_The triumphant smile disappeared from Hermione's face. Letting go of his arm, she gently took his face in her hands and pulled his attention back to her. "What is it?"_

_Averting his eyes, he took a deep breath before answering. "My father used to curse me when I was little."_

_Hermione's face paled. "Draco . . . that—that's not okay."_

_Draco looked into her eyes and shrugged. "No . . . it's fine. You just don't understand my father. Besides . . . I'm sure that I deserved it."_

_Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but wisely decided against it. As they were once again overtaken by silence, she took his hand in hers and leaned her head on his shoulder. Her heart pained for him. And at that exact instant, she felt their breakthrough—and the closeness that came with it._

And through their time together, she got to know him—know him more closely than anybody she had ever known. And as she got to know him, she began to feel a connection . . . and sequentially, she began to feel apprehension when she wasn't able to be with him. Which is exactly why her days were spent daydreaming about being with him at night.

She knew that she was blowing her friends off—every night, in fact—and she felt _horrible _about it, but she was unable to control it. And it was getting worse. Every time she was forced to be with her friends, she felt unhappy. She didn't participate in their conversations, and constantly checked her watch to see how much longer it was going to be until she could be freed from them and be with Draco. And this made her feel extremely remorseful.

Her friends weren't stupid, either. It was still awkward with Ginny, Ron, and Harry, and her attitude wasn't making it any better. She was constantly preoccupied, and her lack of focus was beginning to pull at the group. Yet—as irritating as her out of worldliness was—they were able to see that her secret "interest" was making her happy . . . and that's all that they cared about.

And she was happy—happier than she'd been in a long time. It was odd. She never thought that she would feel like she did for _anybody_—let alone Draco Malfoy. And even stranger still—it wasn't a physical connection. Granted, she still longed to feel his body against hers—to feel his lips against hers . . . his tongue mingling with hers, but it didn't pull as hard; because now, she also felt connected on an emotional level.

She felt like she was floating. It seemed like the hours dragged on until it was finally time to see him. She felt a need—a pull—toward him and a hollow ache seemed ever present in her chest when she couldn't speak with him or look into his silvery eyes.

Draco had also begun to write letters to her. Every day, when the owls came, her heart fluttered like it was outside of her ribs. When the plain envelope addressed to her would land in her hand, her mouth would go dry. She longed to rip it open and read it right then and there, but she knew that she had to wait. So instead, she would wait until she had said goodnight to Draco and she read them far into the night—protected by the walls of her dorm room. His words flowed across the page in his majestically elegant script . . . like he was simply continuing their conversation.

As her eyes scanned over each piece of parchment, she came to a sudden realization: He was completely different than she thought. He wasn't the cold, hard being that she had imagined. Instead, he was hurt, hopeful, scared, excited, and confused . . . just like everyone else.

Late into the night, she would take out her own parchment and ink and write back. She wrote as if it were her diary—opening up with her secrets, ambitions, and fears—feeling absolute trust that they would stay just between them. And when she was finished, she would carefully fold it, slide it into an envelope, address it to him, and drift to sleep—only to meet with him again in her dreams . . . .

As the weeks went by, the charade became more and more difficult to uphold, but she was happy. And it was that happiness that fueled her through the grueling and often difficult schedule.

But, just like all things, the imperfections in their plan began to show.

Abruptly, the season changed. The warmer, carefree days of autumn turned brittle as winter blew in with a vengeance. The wind began to blow cold and fast, erasing the leaves from the trees. Snow began to flurry—slowly drifting from the sky—and blanketed the discarded leaves.

And as it became colder, it became harder and harder to see one another. First term finals were bearing down and in a perfect world, there would be enough time for Hermione to focus on her studies, and also to be with Draco _and _her friends. But, life wasn't perfect, and no matter how good a witch she was, she wasn't able to add hours to the day—and her studies always needed to come first.

When they did find a spare moment, it was becoming increasingly difficult to find a place to meet. It was now too cold to meet outside and it was proving near impossible to find a communal area inside where they could be alone.

Ever since Filch had nearly caught them in the 4th floor classroom, he had gone on a tirade to ensure that it would never happen again. Gathering the teachers on his side, he had made use of their talents and had asked them to charm any room that students should not be in after dark. This essentially had left only the library and Great Hall as common areas for all of the Houses . . . yet, both continuously had too many people for Draco and Hermione to truly be alone.

So, making due with what they had, Draco would often come to the library to see Hermione—where they took a hidden back table. Although they weren't able to openly talk, they were still able to be together—their hands intertwined under the table. But, their time together was broken. Hermione was too focused on her studies to truly enjoy Draco's company. Plus, they had to always keep a watchful eye so their peers didn't see them sitting by one another.

As finals neared, it even became impossible to meet in the library. Throughout all hours of the day, the library was filled with Hogwarts students who were cramming last minute for tests and papers. Frustrated, they had to rely on letters as the only form of communication between them.

And weeks passed.

It was nearly 2 weeks since Draco had been able to talk to Hermione face to face. He wanted to talk to her—to hear her voice. And he wanted to touch her—to hold her hand in his . . . to feel her head on his shoulder . . . to smell the subtle scent of her hair. Tense and unhappy, he paced around his room, agitated and aggravated.

His every thought consisted of Hermione. When he was awake, he felt an irrepressible urge to be with her. And when he was asleep, his dreams were littered with images of her. When he woke, he was more frustrated and discontent than ever.

With a sigh, he sat down heavily at his desk. Pulling a piece of parchment to him, his hand grabbed his quill. Dipping it in ink, he suspended it over the parchment, unable to write for a few moments. Finally, he just stopped thinking, bent over the paper, and began to write.

*****************************************

The only thing Hermione was feeling when she walked into Potions class the next day was the familiar excitement that she always felt when she had a class with Draco. And it seemed that the fluttering in her chest had impeccably increased at the sight of him over the last 2 weeks—ever since their interactions had withered to nothing more than letters.

As usual, she was the first one in the classroom. Walking toward her desk, her breath suddenly caught in her throat. Neatly placed on the tabletop was a piece of folded parchment. With shaky fingers, she picked it up. Looking over her shoulder, she checked for any of her peers before opening it.

Her heart beat heavily in her chest as her eyes scanned over Draco's now-familiar print.

I have to see you.

Find a reason to come back after class.

Make sure you're alone.

Her eyes read the words again, and her body tingled. She suddenly felt more alive than she had felt in weeks.

She began to re-read the words once more.  
"What's that?"

Harry's voice caused Hermione to jump violently and she hastily folded the parchment again and pressed it to her chest. "N-nothing." She could feel her face flushing scarlet.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right . . . nothing." Sulking, he sat down heavily beside her.

Cursing under her breath, Hermione silently took her seat and waited for class to begin.

Class trickled by torturously slow. Professor Snape droned on about the importance of knowing the difference between Wartcap powder and Bulbadox powder. Hermione mindlessly took notes—her quill aimlessly moving over her parchment—even though she already knew the difference.

Every time she looked up, she saw the back of Draco's platinum head, and her pulse quickened. She watched impatiently as the hourglass on Snape's desk slowly trickled sand into the lower compartment. It seemed that no matter how many times she looked at it, the sand remained at the exact same level.

Miraculously, the last grain of sand finally fell from the top to the bottom. Snape quickly announced the homework assignment over the noise of his students who were hastily gathering up their things and dismissed them.

Hermione grabbed her books, aware that her palms had suddenly begun to sweat. Standing from the table, she pulled her books to her chest and quickly glanced in Draco's direction under her eyelashes. He was leaning nonchalantly on his desk—his arms crossed tightly across his chest—speaking quietly with Crabbe and Goyle. She looked at him for a few moments, feeling her heart flutter girlishly in her ears, but he refused to make eye contact with her.

"Are you ready to go?"

Harry was suddenly standing beside her, his books gripped lightly by his side.

Hermione quickly turned her attention from Draco and smiled at her best friend. "Absolutely."

They made their way from the classroom and out into the hallway. Silently, they walked toward the stairs.

A few steps from the staircase, Hermione suddenly stopped. Her heart pounded as she attempted to form a coherent lie in her mind. "Oh Harry . . . um . . . I just realized that I left my . . . um . . . History book." With her thumb, she pointed over her shoulder toward the Potions classroom. "I, uh . . . should probably go back and get it."

Harry looked confused. "Um . . . alright. Do you want me to wait for you?"

"No!"

Hermione spoke too quickly and Harry flinched noticeably at her outburst. Quickly, she recovered. "I mean . . . it-it's fine. I'll just catch up with you later, okay?"

Harry looked slightly worried, but he let Hermione's behavior slide. "Okay. I'll see you later, then."

Hermione watched as he turned and began his ascent up the stairs. At one point, he looked over his shoulder, bewildered, but she merely smiled and waved at him.

She watched him until she couldn't see his feet anymore. Then, with legs shaking, she turned back toward the classroom.

Timidly, she pushed the door open and peered inside. The darkened classroom was vacant—void of students and teacher.

Taking a step forward, Hermione was suddenly nervous. It was odd to be standing in the deserted classroom—the lights eerily dimmed.

Slowly, she turned her head to the left and began to look around. "Draco?" With his whispered name, her body began to tingle once more.

Silence was her only response, and she felt her heart begin to pulse heavily in her chest. Licking her lips anxiously, her eyes scanned the front of the room. "Dra—"

She was hit hard from the right. She gasped as Draco grabbed her face and crushed his lips to hers. Impatiently, he pushed her backwards until her back hit the wall—hard.

She moaned as his body pressed against hers. Twisting her hands in his hair, she hungrily ate at his mouth—her tongue tangling with his.

Pulling her from the wall, he abruptly spun her in his arms, so her back was pulled against his chest. One arm pulled her tightly against his body. She could feel his erection pressing insistently into her lower back. She gasped audibly as the other hand roughly grabbed a fistful of her hair and tipped her neck to him. Bending, he bit and sucked at her naked flesh.

Hermione shivered against him as his mouth worked up and down her sensitive skin—her breathing ragged. Reaching her arms back, her fingers once more curled through his hair, anchoring his head in place. Arching her back, she pressed herself more firmly into him. "What about the agreement?"

Draco growled against her neck. "Fuck the agreement."

She moaned at his animalistic urgency. She felt hot and could feel her center moistening. With his touch, her mind was beginning to go blank. "Can we get caught?"

He shook his head against her neck. "No . . . Snape doesn't have another class for an hour." His breath was hot and moist and sent shivers down her spine. Cupping her breasts, his hands began to knead her swollen bust.

Seductively, she writhed against him; her hips making figure eights against his lap. She felt his cock twitch against her and suddenly, all coherent thought was gone. Urgently she reached her hand between their bodies and gripped him through his pants. He gasped as she began to stroke his length. Panting, he bucked into her hand, his palms still busy on her chest.

Bringing her other hand between them, Hermione blindly fumbled with his zipper. Finally, she got it down and thrust her hand through the opening.

Her fingers touched his hardened flesh and she wrapped her hand around him. It was like silk over steel. She pulled his erection clear of his pants and gripped him tightly. Slowly, her hand moved up and down his length, milking him. He was already wet with excitement, making it easier for her hand to slide over him. As her hand stroked him along her lower back, she began to feel the anticipation of having him inside of her again.

His hands suddenly left her breasts only to trail down the length of her body. Reaching underneath her skirt, his fingers found the spot between her legs and he touched her through her panties. Hermione felt her knees go weak as he caressed and fondled her most sensitive parts.

Moisture began to drip down the inside of her thigh as Draco suddenly pulled the fabric to the side and pushed two fingers inside of her. Gasping, she rolled against his fingers, her hands tightening around his erection. Slowly, he began a rhythm—his intensity building with her every moan. Using his thumb, he lightly flicked her clit and Hermione felt sweat beginning to build on the back of her neck.

Thrusting faster, Draco suddenly curled his fingers toward her front wall and grazed her g-spot. Hermione struggled for breath as he pumped deeply inside of her. Shutting her eyes, her body was abruptly rocked with an orgasm. Crying out, she shuddered against him as her muscles clenching tightly around his fingers.

Spots swam in front of her closed eyes and her pulse was so loud in her ears, that she barely registered the sound of condom wrapper being torn open.

Without warning, she was savagely bent over a desk.

Pulling her skirt up to her waist, Draco hastily jerked the material of her soaked panties to the side and thrust deeply into her.

Hermione cried at the suddenness of the assault and she bit down on her hand—hard. She felt pain as she was viciously parted, but it soon turned to unfathomable pleasure as his pumping began to cadence. He gripped her hips firmly—pulling her into his lap with unbridled ferocity. She knew that his tightly gripping fingers would leave bruises, but she didn't care. The only thing she could focus on at the moment was the feeling of his cock stroking her deep within her walls.

Grabbing her hair, he violently pulled her head back as he bent over her body. Biting her neck hard, his hips worked like a piston against her; frantically he thrust into her, their bodies slapping loudly against one another.

He released her hair and grabbed her hips once more.

Hermione placed her flushed cheek on the cool tabletop and gripped the edge of the desk—her knuckles turning white. Panting, her breath condensed—hot and wet—in a circle on the flat surface. With each vigorous thrust, her chest slipped unevenly over the desktop.

He slapped her ass and Hermione cried out as pain mixed deliciously with pleasure rushed through her body.

Clenching his jaw, Draco increased his speed. He placed his hand on Hermione's back, holding her flat against the desk. His thrusts were urgently animalistic and primal in nature—driven solely by lust and immeasurable desire.

Desire for her.

Grabbing her leg, he lifted it up to his waist. She curled her knee around his hips, pulling him closer.

Hermione felt him swell inside of her. Arching her back, she met Draco thrust for thrust. Simultaneously, she reached between her legs and began to work her clit with her fingers.

Draco bent over her, his hands splayed flat on the desk on either side of her head. Grunting, he fucked her hard—his release close.

Hermione's fingers worked feverishly between her legs and her second orgasm hit her violently. Her body jerked and convulsed beneath him.

As her muscles tightened around his organ, Draco felt his own orgasm rocket through his body. He thrust deeply within her, his body shaking.

Falling forward, he blanketed her body with his own. His breathing was hot and ragged against her neck—his heart pounding loudly in his chest.

Her eyes closed, Hermione trembled—reveling in the feeling of his body so close to hers.

After what seemed like an eternity, Draco finally straightened and pulled out of her.

Shakily, Hermione dragged the back of her hand across her mouth before unsteadily pushing herself vertical.

Quickly, Draco performed a simple cleansing charm over both of them. Turning her gently, he delicately ran a hand along her cheek. His face was still flushed slightly and his eyes shone a brilliant chrome.

"I guess this means I lost . . . ." His voice was deep—husky.

Hermione laughed lightly, her breathing still labored. "I guess it does." Swallowing heavily, she licked her lips.

"I can't take not seeing you anymore." The pained expression returned to his eyes.

Hermione sighed. "I know . . . but what can we do?"

"We can find another room . . . somewhere—anywhere—that we can be alone."

Hermione shook her head. "No. Filch had all of the professors charm the classrooms. There's no way we could do anything without getting caught—"

Her sentence dropped off as she was suddenly hit with a thought—a brilliant thought.

Biting her lip, she quickly looked up at Draco. "I have an idea . . . but you need to trust me. Trust me completely."

Draco nodded sincerely. "Of course."

Hermione felt excitement build in her chest. "Alright . . . meet me tonight at Bartholomew's statue. Say, 10:00?"

Draco nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah."

"Alright." Smiling, Hermione lifted onto her toes and kissed Draco lightly. "Now . . . just wait a few minutes after I leave before you go. Okay?"

Draco nodded.

"I'll see you tonight, then."

Flattening her skirt down her legs, Hermione quickly gathered her books and hustled toward the door. Sticking her head out into the hallway, she checked both ways before exiting the classroom.

Draco stood in the murky dimness, his heart pounding in excitement. While he counted the minutes until he could leave, he thought about meeting with Hermione later that night.

When he was sure that enough time had passed, he quickly ran a hasty hand thorough his hair, straightened his tie, and walked out into the hallway toward the Slytherin Common Room.

*******************************************

"Hermione, seriously. Is this necessary?"

Draco stood impatiently in the hallway, his eyes covered tightly by a blindfold.

Exasperatedly, Hermione sighed. "Yes."

Draco was getting irritated quickly. "But why?"

"I just need you to trust me, okay?"

Draco sighed, but his mouth remained closed.

At a quarter to 10:00, he had already been waiting for her by the statue of Bartholomew. Hermione had appeared shortly after and immediately covered his eyes with a tightly knotted blindfold. Then, taking him by the hand, she had carefully led him around a tour of the castle. They went up and down stairs, down hallways, around corners, and finally came to a stop.

"You're sure you don't know where you are?" Hermione's voice sounded far away.

Draco growled deep in his throat. "Hermione, there is no way in Merlin's beard that I know where I am. You took me on so many twists and turns, I'm not even sure we're on Hogwarts grounds anymore." His voice dropped to a grumble. "I honestly don't even understand the importance of all of this . . ."

"Trust, Draco . . . trust."

Suddenly, her hands were on his—soft and gentle. Pulling him slowly forward, he followed blindly.

He heard a door slide shut heavily behind him, and his pulse quickened.

Before removing Draco's blindfold, Hermione looked around.

The Room of Requirement looked exactly the way she had dreamt it. She felt her face flush hot as she remembered her racy reverie.

With shaky fingers, she unknotted the blindfold. It fell slowly from his eyes.

Blinking, Draco allowed his eyes to adjust. As he focused, his breath caught in his throat. Looking around, his eyes took in the candles, the rose pedals, and finally the large bed.

"What is this place?" His voice was an awed whisper.

"I can't tell you that."

"How long have you known about it?"

Hermione's mind briefly flashed to Harry, Ron, and Ginny and a knot of guilt formed in the depths of her stomach. "A while."

"And you didn't tell me about it."

Hermione looked down at her fingers. "I didn't trust you then."

Draco fell silent.

Hurriedly, Hermione walked over to him. Placing her hands gently on his forearms, she looked up into his eyes. "But I trust you now. You just need to trust me that I can't tell you where or what this place is."

Looking deeply into her eyes, Draco finally sighed and nodded. "And you're sure that we're safe here?"

Hermione smiled and grabbed his hands. "Positive. There is no way that _anybody _can find us here."

_Unless they require the exact same thing as us . . . _

Backing up, she gently pulled him forward until she was sitting on the bed. Looking deep into his eyes, she slowly licked her lips. "I want tonight to be slow . . . ." Her voice was nothing more than a soft whisper. "Because now . . . we have all the time in the world."

_A/N: Sorry for the delayed update. But, I made sure to make it extra long for you :) Slowly, but surely, we're beginning to wrap this up and I'm excited! Thank you all so much for the great response. I have the next few parts in my head—it's just going to be a matter of getting it down on paper. Thanks again, and please, feel free to review! _


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Thank you all for your support and enthusiasm for this story. You guys are __**awesome**__! I am absolutely blown away by all of you adding this to your story alert/ favorite stories list. It's such an honor. Yet, I would also love to hear _why_ you are adding the story. So, please, (if you could find some time, or you feel so inclined) review. I love your suggestions, corrections, and comments. By telling me what you like (or _don't_ like) I can only get better and can begin to mold my writing and the story to your liking. So please, help me out, so I can continue to keep you all happy :) Per your suggestions, things are going to start coming to a head in this chapter. Slowly but surely, I'm starting to wrap things up. But, don't worry . . . I have some other material brewing in my head and I'm excited to get it down on paper so you all can enjoy it. _

_Tighten your seatbelts . . . cause it might just get a little bumpy._

**Chapter 9**

Hermione flitted around her dorm room like she was floating on a cloud.

The last two weeks had flown by—the events of each day blurring together in an incoherent mess. The only events that were clear in Hermione's mind were her nights that were spent with Draco.

Her hectic schedule had begun once more. Yet this time,—because of the security of the Room of Requirement—being caught or getting back by curfew were now two nonexistent problems. And consequentially, Hermione's friends were pushed even further onto the backburner.

Looking through her closet, Hermione quickly selected a bright red sweater. It screamed holiday cheer, even in its simplicity. Dreamily, she slipped it over her head. The soft material felt good against her skin—and she couldn't help but think about what Draco's hands would feel like on her skin that night.

She also couldn't help but envision what the Room of Requirements would look like. Since their first night together in the Room—surrounded in brilliant white—the Room had manifested itself into a plethora of different settings. Every night, the atmosphere was something different. Some nights, it was dark and sultry—clad in deep velvets and musky smells. Other nights, it was light and airy—with satins and silks.

They made love depending on the mood of the Room; hard, fast, and lustful . . . or soft, slow, and gentle. Sometimes it was a mixture of the two. But, no matter what the tone, she came with him every night, and fell asleep in his arms.

The Room of Requirement wasn't the only thing that was changing. Hogwarts was slowly being transformed. Elaborate decorations were strung about. The Great Hall was festive and cheery. Large trees were brought in and adorned. The holiday season was quickly approaching, and excitement could be felt like electricity in the air.

Humming softly to herself, Hermione ran a brush through her hair. Fluffing up her roots with her fingers, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale, with a healthy glow in the cheeks. There was the slight hint of darkness just above her cheekbones,—a sign of her increasing lack of sleep—but her eyes shown brightly. The red sweater shone brilliantly against her fair skin, and she actually felt beautiful for the first time in her life.

She was so wrapped up in her preparation, that she didn't hear Ginny walk in.

Crossing her arms tightly across her chest, Ginny watched incredulously as Hermione dabbed on some light pink lip gloss. Hermione gently smoothed her fingers over her face, and Ginny cleared her throat lightly.

Hermione jumped at the noise—torn from her reverie. She turned from the mirror quickly, and was surprised to see her roommate leaning against the doorframe, looking irritated.

"Where you going?" Ginny's voice was cold.

At the sight of her, Hermione suddenly felt extremely guilty. She hadn't barely seen Ginny in the last few weeks, let alone actually talked to her. Normally, Hermione left to meet with Draco long before Ginny made it up to their room, and she usually snuck back in long after Ginny was asleep.

Quickly, she cleared her throat. "Nowhere."

Ginny sighed heavily, a heated look coming over her face. "Oh, c'mon Hermione . . . cut the crap. We're not stupid, you know. We all know that you've been sneaking off to be with some guy."

Hermione sputtered. "W-what?"

Ginny uncrossed her arms and gestured angrily. "Do you really think we're that dumb? You've changed and I don't even think you realize it. You're distant, distracted, impatient, and so flipping eager to leave us—if you even hang out with us at all." She counted the differences on her fingers.

"You've become obsessed with your appearance. I don't know when you've _ever _worn makeup . . . and now . . . ." Her voice trailed off and she gestured up and down Hermione's body.

"You're gone every night. You don't think I hear you sneak in past curfew? And on the weekends, you sometimes don't even come back at _all_."

Hermione opened her mouth, but Ginny cut her off with another infuriated sweep of her hand.

"You think that just because the whispering has stopped, nobody's talking about it? The Fat Lady's still clucking like a hen . . . the whole House knows. Hell, I'm sure most of the _school _knows!"

Hermione felt her face flush scarlet. "It's all a lie."

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

Ginny took a step toward her, her face and voice softening. "Why can't you just tell me who it is? I won't be mad . . . I swear."

Hermione sat down heavily on her bed. _Yes, you will. _

"I just . . . can't." Her voice was soft.

Frustration covered Ginny's face once more as she threw her hands up in the air. "Fine!! I'll just follow you one night."

Hermione looked up in horror.

Ginny sighed loudly. "Jesus, Hermione . . . I'm kidding. But this sucks, you know? You're supposed to be my best friend, and I haven't even seen you in almost a month."

Hermione looked ashamedly down at her feet. "I know."

Ginny sighed again. "Could you at least tell me if he's in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff? 'Cause seriously, we _all _know he's not in Slytherin."

Hermione's face paled as she stared at the ground and her pulse began to pound loudly in her ears.

Ginny froze, her eyes wide. "He's not in _Slytherin_ . . . is he?"

Hermione looked up, tears in her pleading eyes. "Please . . . don't."

Ginny stared wide-eyed as the realization sunk in. "Slytherin?" The word slipped off of her tongue like Caster oil.

A single tear slipped from Hermione's eye and she bent her head to conceal it.

It didn't go unnoticed.

Taking a step forward, Ginny slowly sat beside her roommate and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey . . . don't cry . . . ." Her voice was soft—consoling. "Well, unless it's Crabbe. Then, you can cry all you want."

Hermione laughed. "No, it's not Crabbe." She sniffled loudly.

"Goyle?"

Hermione stuck her tongue out.

"Oh, thank God." Ginny laughed. "But, hey . . . now you can just tell me . . . 'cause if it's not Crabbe or Goyle, I really _can't_ be mad."

Hermione looked down at her feet again.

"Hermione . . . you've already confirmed that it's not Crabbe _or _Goyle . . . and really, there's nobody worse. I just don't understa—" Her words trailed off.

Hermione wanted to sink into the floor.

"No."

Hermione bent her head as if she were a dog being scolded.

"No." Ginny repeated the word in a whisper.

"He's different." Hermione made the excuse to her shoe.

Ginny shook her head. "No . . . no. No! You're telling me that you've been blowing us all off for _Draco Malfoy_?"

Hermione looked up sharply, her eyes wet. "You can't tell anyone!"

Ginny stared at her, openmouthed. "You expect me to keep this to myself?"

Hermione looked at her pleadingly. "Yes."

Ginny shook her head. "No . . . not when it's Malfoy."

"You don't even know him."

"Yeah . . . for a reason! And I really have no intention of _getting _to know the sleaze ball."

"He's not like that." Hermione could feel anger beginning to swell in her chest.

"You know what? You've _finally_ done it. You've lost your goddamned mind."

"You don't _know_ what's going on in my mind."

"And I'm not sure I want to. You know . . . for someone who's so smart, you sure are thinking pretty dumb."

"Don't belittle my intelligence."

"It's Draco Malfoy . . . how is that intelligent?"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Ginny waved an impatient hand. "No . . . consider this an intervention, Hermione. I now deem you completely incompetent to run your own love life."

Hermione glared at her friend, fire in her eyes. "You can't tell me what I'm allowed to feel for someone."

Ginny scoffed. "I can when it's Draco Malfoy."

"We have a connection."

"A connection?" Ginny repeated the phrase skeptically. "You're trying to tell me that this _isn't_ just about sex? That you feel something _deeper _than a physical connection to him?"

Hermione blushed violently, but she held her gaze. "Yes."

"He's using you . . . ."

Hermione shook her head violently. "No . . . no, he's not like that."

Ginny laughed bitterly. "Not like that?" Draco _Malfoy_? That's what he _does_, Hermione. He uses people—sweet, innocent people like you—to get what he wants. He's a Malfoy." She put scornful emphasis on his last name.

Hermione dropped her gaze and her voice. "I already told you . . . he's different."

"Different how?" Ginny's voice was hard—cruel. "Please Hermione, paint me a picture so I can _finally_ understand."

Hermione absentmindedly began to pick at her fingers. "I can't tell you that . . . but he just _is_."

Ginny ran a frustrated hand over her face. Thick silence filled the room as she stared intently at her friend's profile.

Hermione felt her face growing hot as she felt Ginny's eyes on her, but she refused to look up from her clenched hands.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ginny finally took a deep breath. Licking her lips, she struggled with her next question. "Does he make you happy?"

Hermione jerked her head up, surprised at the question and the softness of her roommate's voice. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she stared sincerely into Ginny's face. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes."

Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling.

Hermione could see the wheels working deep inside of Ginny's head—the war that she was beginning to fight—and she couldn't stop a silent tear from falling down her cheek.

"What are you thinking?" Hermione's voice was small—hurt.

Ginny took a deep breath, thinking over her answer. Finally, she shook her head. "I don't know."

Hermione took Ginny's hands gently between hers. "Please Gin . . . I need you to understand. I _wanted _to tell you. Really, I did."

Hurt filled Ginny's eyes. Firmly, she pulled her hands from Hermione's grip and looked away. "I don't know if I can understand—if I can accept this. People like him don't change. He's going to hurt you."

"I don't believe he will."

Biting the inside of her cheek, Ginny angrily set her jaw. She felt hurt, betrayed, and slightly offended at Hermione's unbending attitude. She didn't know what to say anymore—her arguments weren't getting through—so she merely sat in silence.

Hermione felt the tension in the room building. Inhaling shakily, she quickly looked around the room. Her eyes landed on the glowing clock by her bed, and she was suddenly torn once more.

"I have to go." She spoke into the open room—her voice low.

Ginny released an angry breath. "Of course you do."

Hermione stood slowly. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"

Ginny refused to look at her.

"Please?"

Rolling her eyes to the ceiling once more, Ginny tried to stop the tears that were threatening to fall. "No."

Hermione felt relief wash over her. "Thank you." Slowly, she turned to leave.

"But I certainly hope that he's worth it . . . because I honestly don't see it."

Hermione felt as if a knife had been plunged through her heart. Spinning, she turned back to her roommate, but was only met with Ginny's back. She took a hesitant step forward, but suddenly decided against it. Pressing her lips together, she bit back the sob that threatened to rip from her throat.

With one final glance and a heavy heart, Hermione turned and quietly left the room.

**********************************************

"I was afraid that you'd forgotten about me."

Smiling, Draco pushed himself from where he had been seated on the floor. He took two quick steps toward Hermione and instantly his smile vanished. Alarm filled his face as he noted Hermione's red, wet eyes.

"What's wrong?"

She felt as if nothing could ever be wrong when she heard his voice.

Yet, at the memory of her recent conversation with Ginny, fresh tears welled in Hermione's eyes, and she shook her head—her lips pressed tightly together.

Reaching out, Draco gently grasped her upper arms. "Hermione . . . talk to me."

Her skin tingled under his touch. Closing her eyes, she felt her throat tighten.

"Did someone hurt you?" Draco stared intently into her face. "Because if they did . . . I'll kill 'em." His voice grew hard and cold.

Her eyes still closed, Hermione shook her head back and forth violently.

_They didn't hurt me . . . I hurt _them_._

Painful silence filled the hallway.

He looked at her skeptically. "So, nothing's wrong?"

Forcing a smile on her face, Hermione opened her eyes and shook her head again.

Draco's face relaxed. Leaning in, he gently pressed his lips against hers.

At his contact, her lips began to shake and she bit back a sob. Trying to relax her mouth, she didn't kiss him back.

Draco pulled back, confused, but his hands still gripped her shoulders tightly. "Something's wrong."

She stood rigidly in his hands, her eyes shifted downward. Slowly, she shook her head as she fought back the uncontrollable urge to cry.

"Look me in the eye and tell me that nothing's wrong."

Breathing carefully, Hermione slowly turned her face to his. Her eyes glistened as she felt herself sink deeply into his silvery orbs. "Nothing is wr—"

A single tear fell from eye and she couldn't continue the lie. Immediately, she turned her eyes away once more.

Sighing, Draco released her arms. He ran his fingertips quickly over the bridge of his nose before looking at her again. "Sweetheart . . . I'm not a mind reader. You need to say something." His voice was quiet—gentle.

Slowly, Hermione lifted her eyes. As she looked into Draco's face, she felt her heart break. She knew that Ginny was right . . . that Draco Malfoy was not a good fit for her, but her heart was screaming that it didn't care.

Patiently, Draco searched her face. His eyes were the color of mercury—cool and calm.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione mustered enough courage to ask the question that she didn't need to hear an answer for.

"What is this?"

Draco face scrunched up in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Hermione felt her heart break even further. "We can't keep looking the other way. We need to think about this . . . ."

"Think about what?"

She didn't care if she ever heard the answer, but she knew deep down that she had to ask the question: "What are we doing?"

Draco recoiled slightly and a deep frown appeared on his face as he suddenly understood. "Are you not happy?"

"It's not that . . . ."

"Then, what?" He touched her face lightly. "What brought on this sudden attitude change?"

Hermione pulled from his touch and looked down at the ground, suddenly unable to look into his hurt-filled eyes. As she stared at her feet, Ginny's face materialized in her mind and a wave of guilt washed over her.

She didn't know how to answer his question, so she merely shrugged.

"Can I ask you a question?" Draco's voice was soft—pleading.

Hermione lifted her head and looked at him once more.

Draco took her gesture as a response. "Do you love me?"

She felt her breath catch in her throat.

The question threw her off and suddenly, she was at a loss for words. Repeating his inquiry in her mind, she felt her mouth dry out.

_Did she?_

Blankly, she stared at him—her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

"It's a simple question, Hermione . . . ."

Her mind racing, she swallowed thickly. "But it's not a simple answer."

Releasing his grip on her arms, Draco licked his lips and looked away.

Hermione took a step toward him and gently placed her face on his cheek. "I didn't mean to hurt you . . . I'm just being honest—because you deserve honesty."

"So . . . you don't . . . ." It was more a statement than a question. As he spoke, his voice sounded thick—strained.

"I never said that . . . I just said that it's not a simple answer."

Draco's eyes remained trained on the floor.

Hermione sighed and tried to explain. "It's not a simple answer, because I don't _know_ if I do or not . . . . There are a lot of factors . . . and I need more time to find out. Does that make sense?"

Draco looked up slowly. Little by little, a corner of his mouth turned upward until his characteristic half-smile covered his face. Shrugging nonchalantly, he nodded.

All thoughts of her recent conversation with Ginny suddenly disappeared from Hermione's head as she reached out and gently grasped Draco's hand in hers. "But, I do know that I care about you . . . very much."

Draco smiled—genuine and true. With his free hand, he lightly tucked a stray piece of hair behind Hermione's ear.

Suddenly, his eyes lightened to the color of molten metal. "Spend the holidays with me."

Hermione froze—her eyes wide. "W-what? Where?"

"Here . . . at Hogwarts. I can blow my family off, easily. They probably won't even notice I'm missing . . . ." He pulled her into a tight embrace against his chest. Bending, he spoke softly into her ear.

"We can spend the whole break together. And with hardly anyone here, we can be free."

Hermione sighed against his chest at the thought. With her eyes closed, she thought of what it would be like. She would be free to be with him: Free to eat, and talk, and laugh. Free to go to sleep with him and wake in his arms. Free to just . . . well, to just be _together._

Her heart pounded with excitement as she imagined what it would be like. She pulled herself closer to his chest, breathing in his scent.

"Stay with me." His voice was pleading.

It was the only thing that she wanted.

And suddenly, Ginny's face rushed into her mind again.

Her face fell. "I can't."

The luster in Draco's eyes dissipated. "Why?"

"I already promised to spend the holidays with my friends at the Burrow."

"Your friends?" Draco's eyes grew cold and he released her. "You mean those blood traitor Weasels and that Potter prick, don't you?"

His tone made her blood run cold, but anger lit a fire in her chest. "Don't call them that. No matter what _you _think of them, they are still _my _friends."

Draco ignored her. "And you _want _to spend the holidays with them?"

_No._

Lifting her chin boldly, she looked him straight in the face. "I promised them."

"So, break your promise."

Her shoulders slumped slightly impairing her confidence. "It's not that simple."

Draco threw up his hands in frustration. "Why is nothing ever simple with you?!"

Hermione flinched at his reaction, but she felt the fire in her chest intensify.

"You know why nothing is simple with me? Because I'm not YOU! I don't just get things handed to me on a silver fucking platter!"

Surprised, Draco's eyes widened at her outburst.

Hermione could see a fire in his own chest ignite. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh step off it, Draco. We all know that that has to do with _everything_! Can we really keep up these pretenses?"

Draco shook his head, his jaw set. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"We're in two separate Worlds."

He stared at her blankly, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Hermione felt hot tears returning to her eyes. "Don't pretend that we're not . . . you come from a World with cooks and caviar. I come from a World with chores and cabbage. You come from the World of the privileged—where your parents are important, and your blood is Pure. I come from a World of dentists and mud."

Her voice broke as tears began to stream down her face.

"We're from two very different realities. Don't you see that?"

"But, why does it matter?"

She looked him intrepidly in the face again. "Because, it does."

"Are you saying that you don't want to be with me?"

She ignored his question. "Tell me . . . could you bring me home to meet your parents?"

"You don't want to meet my parents . . . ."

"That's not what I asked. Could you bring me home to meet your parents?" She enunciated each word clearly.

Draco refused to look her in the eye.

Scoffing, Hermione answered her own question. "Of course you couldn't. You could never bring home the Mudblood Gryffindor."

It was the first time that she had openly called herself a Mudblood, and she noticed Draco flinch at the term.

"So, it comes down to Houses, then?" His voice was cold.

"It's always been about Houses."

"Why?"

"Because, I'm. Not. Slytherin!"

He shook his head angrily. "That's a flawed argument. We don't get to pick what House we're in."

"It doesn't matter, because I could never be in Slytherin. I'm not a Pureblood."

"I don't care if you're Pure!"

"But, your name does. Why do you think we've done so much to keep _this_-" she gestured widely "a secret? Because a Malfoy cannot be seen with a Muggle Mudblood. Isn't that true?"

Ice formed in Draco's eyes, causing them to turn the color of slate. Coldly, he stared at her. "Well, maybe you don't belong in my World."

Hermione felt her heart break. She could see Draco quickly reconstructing the protective wall around his heart.

He narrowed his eyes until they were almost slits. Hurt and anger radiated from his every pore, and suddenly, he was the Malfoy that Hermione had once hated. "I'll tell you what . . . when you figure out what World you want to be in, just let me fucking know."

Heatedly, he spun on his heel and stormed away from her.

She watched him leave—tears streaming down her face. She had struck a nerve . . . and hurt him more deeply than she had ever imagined. Because she had turned him down.

It wasn't supposed to go this far.

It wasn't supposed to escalate to this.

She just wanted some questions answered.

Covering her hand with her mouth, Hermione began to sob as she wondered what she had just done.

***********************************

The days leading up to the holiday break were unbearable.

After Draco had stranded her on the 4th floor corridor, Hermione had quickly retreated back to the safety of Gryffindor Tower. It wasn't nearly midnight and the Common Room was bustling with her peers.

Hiding her red eyes, Hermione had brushed past them without stopping and rushed up the stairs to her room.

Without even changing, she had fallen—crying—into bed.

She didn't know how long she had sobbed—her tears soaking her pillow. But, when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs and approaching the door, she had forced herself to stop.

She listened as the door slowly slid open, a sliver of light from the hallway appearing on the wall. Lying still, she listened intently as someone snuck quietly into the room.

"Hermione?"

Ginny's voice was a whisper.

Ignoring her, Hermione had concentrated on breathing evenly—her eyes closed tightly.

Ginny tiptoed closer to Hermione's bed. "Hermione?" Her whisper had been slightly louder.

Hermione still didn't answer her.

Quietly, Ginny had grabbed a blanket that was at the end of Hermione's bed and gently draped it over her roommate.

Hermione felt the slight pressure from the blanket and felt fresh tears pressing at her closed eyelids.

Silent tears began to run from her closed eyes, but she remained still.

Only after Ginny was in bed—her breathing even and regulated—was Hermione finally able to fall into a dreamless sleep.

And the next day wasn't any better.

Hermione had woken—tired and restless.

At breakfast, Draco had been absent from the Slytherin table.

He was also missing during their classes together.

By the time it was lunch, Hermione couldn't feel anything anymore. Slowly, she was slipping deeper and deeper into depression.

Her friends didn't even try to talk to her.

And Ginny felt the worst. Guilt-ridden, she had watched as Hermione slowly broke down. She didn't know any details,—of who had hurt whom—but she knew deep down that it was all her fault.

Staring at her plate, Hermione had recreated her fight with Draco over and over in her mind. The only thing that had broken her trance had been the sound of the mail owls approaching.

Her heart had pounded in anticipation as she watched owl after owl drop letters and packages around the Gryffindor table. Staring up toward the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, she had waited for a letter to be dropped in front of her.

A letter from him.

Yet, there was nothing.

That night—deep into the night—she wrote him a letter. She had cried as her quill moved over the parchment—her tear drops staining the page. Her hand shook as she expressed her feelings—her remorse and regret. Pouring her soul into the page, she had begged for his forgiveness.

The next day came and went—much like the first.

And still no reply.

She wrote letters to him every single day for a week . . . and with each day that passed without a reply, she felt a small piece of herself die.

Every day, her heart sunk lower and lower, until suddenly, it was the day before break began.

At lunch that day, Hermione didn't even look up when the owls appeared. She had accepted the fact that nothing was going to fall into her hands.

Which is exactly why she was so surprised when a plain white box—small and square—landed gently beside her plate.

With shaking hands, she picked it up and turned it gently between her fingers. Quickly, she glanced around the Hall. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Draco's striking blond hair amongst the crowd, but as usual, he was ignoring her.

Before her friends could look up, she slipped the box under the table and onto her lap.

She didn't remember eating the rest of her food. Mechanically, she scooped the food into her mouth and chewed. When her plate was only half empty, she pushed it away from herself and stood from the table.

Her friends—used to her disconnection—didn't even look up.

She rushed up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower—her stomach in knots. When she reached her dorm, she slammed the door shut before pulling the small box from her robes.

Her fingers shook as she lifted the cover.

And immediately, her eyes filled with tears.

An elegant oval-shaped silver locket was positioned delicately on a piece of red velvet. In graceful and dainty script, the letters "H" and "G" were inscribed on the cover. It gleamed—polished and perfect—in the sunlight that streamed from Hermione's window.

Gently, she picked it up with her fingertips. The chain slid from beneath the velvet, and suddenly, a small piece of parchment dislodged and fell from the box to the floor.

Hermione placed the locket carefully on the stand beside her bed and bent to pick the parchment up. Slowly, she unfolded it and felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw Draco's flawless writing.

Sitting down heavily, her eyes began to move over the page.

Hermione,

I'm sorry that it took me so long to reply to you. I needed some time to sort out my thoughts. After much thought, I think that it's good that we are taking some time off from one another. Perhaps, over our holiday break, we can both figure out our thoughts and find some answers.

I do apologize for my behavior the last time we met. I let my anger get the best of me and I said some unnecessary things.

I hope that you enjoy your time with your friends. It is very important that you spend time with them, and I realize now how selfish I have been of you and your time. Please accept this locket as my sincerest apology. When I saw it, I knew that you must have it; although it pales in comparison to your beauty.

I wish you the happiest of holidays and perhaps, after our minds have cleared a bit, we can start afresh . . . if it's both what we desire.

-Draco-

A tear fell from Hermione's eye as she carefully refolded the letter. Placing the parchment on her nightstand, she once again picked up the necklace.

With nimble fingers, she fastened it around her neck. It hung—heavy and cold—against her collarbone. Tenderly, she picked it up and rubbed her fingers over it.

There was a sudden knock at the door, and Hermione quickly tucked the locket under the collar of her shirt. "Come in."

The door opened, and Ginny hesitantly stuck her head in. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Mind if I come in?"

Hermione shook her head.

Ginny stepped through the door and closed it gently behind her. "So . . . um . . . how are you?"

Hermione shrugged. "Fine, I guess."

Ginny's shoulders slumped. "Look, 'Mione . . . I need to apologize."

Hermione started to shake her head, but Ginny stopped her with a wave of her hand.

"No, seriously . . . I had no right to go off on you like that. You have the right to care for anyone you choose . . . even if it is Draco Malfoy . . . And, as a friend, I should be happy simply because you're happy. It was wrong of me to make you feel guilty and conflicted. And I'm sorry."

Hermione felt her eyes begin to glisten. "Thank you."

Abruptly, Ginny crossed the room and took Hermione into her arms. Hermione clung to her—relishing in the first human contact she had encountered in weeks.

"So, we're good?" Ginny's voice was against Hermione's hair.

Hermione pulled away and wiped hastily at her eyes. A smile crossed her face. "Yeah . . . we're good."

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. "Good."

They sat in silence momentarily, until suddenly her face grew serious. "Hermione . . . what happened? I mean, after that night. What did he do?"

"You were wrong." Hermione picked at her fingers. "It wasn't him who hurt me . . . I hurt him."

"What do you mean?"

"I turned him down."

"How?"

Hermione's voice grew soft as the painful hole in her chest reopened. "He asked me if I loved him . . ."

Ginny's voice caught in her throat. "Do you?"

"I don't know." Another tear escaped Hermione's eye. "Oh, Ginny . . . I'm so confused. I don't know what to do."

Ginny wrapped her arms around her roommate again. "I wish I could tell you what to do . . . what to feel . . . but I can't. All I can tell you is I support you in any decision you make. Even if it _is _Malfoy . . . ."

Hermione laughed lightly against her friend's shoulder. "Thank you."

"You just need to remember that we can't choose who our heart loves . . . ."

"My head keeps getting in the way."

"Sometimes, you need to stop listening to your head and just listen to your heart."

Hermione sniffled loudly.

Suddenly, Ginny pulled away and looked Hermione in the face. "But, hey . . . no matter what you decide, know that I'll be here for you. And I'm going to make sure you have one kick ass holiday break—completely guilt free. Maybe it'll be good for you to just take some time from one another, and focus on other things, so your heart can speak up."

"You're a good friend, Ginny."

Ginny smiled widely. "Yeah . . . well, you should probably start to get packed. It'll be a long day tomorrow."

Hermione smiled and nodded. She was already beginning to feel better.

Standing, Ginny left the room.

Silence filled the space once more and instead of packing, Hermione slowly began to recount Ginny's words—flipping them over and over in her head. Still sitting on her bed, her fingers absentmindedly found the locket that lay solidly against her skin.

It was at that exact moment that she finally threw all of her inhibitions away.

She didn't need time.

And she didn't need something else to focus on.

With her friend's blessing, the one thing that she had secretly known all along rapidly became vibrantly and irrevocably clear:

She was in love with Draco Malfoy.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Sorry for the delayed update. My computer got a virus and I was unable to do _anything_. But, Dear Readers, here it is—just as promised . . . albeit a little late. And, it's the last chapter!! We've made it!! Thank you for your patience, support, and responses (and a _very_ special thanks to those who have been devoted and reviewed since the beginning!!). I've got some more ideas cooking in my head, so I'll try to get them up as soon as possible (suggestions are always welcome, as usual). _

_Thanks again and __please__ review!! _

_For one final time . . . onward._

**Chapter 10 **

If the last day at Hogwarts was any indication as to how the holiday break was going to go, then Hermione wasn't the least bit surprised at how brutal it was.

Hermione woke naturally on the last day of classes. The sun was barely beginning to rise above the horizon, but she was already too awake to go back to sleep. She had slept fretfully. Her dreams had been vivid recreations of her fight with Draco, and she woke often, the hole in her chest gaping and raw.

She knew that she had to see him before she left for the holidays. Just see his face—his vibrant eyes. Just see him long enough that she could believe his letter . . . to know that things might get better after the break.

But, as usual, he was nowhere to be found. Throughout the day, the Hogwarts population was quickly dissipating, and when it was almost time for Hermione to catch the train, she had to finally accept the heart wrenching fact that Draco had already left.

Without saying goodbye.

Her core ached painfully as she lugged her trunk toward the awaiting train. Climbing aboard, she sat heavily in an empty compartment. Looking out the window, she saw the towers of Hogwarts sticking up in the distance.

The towers that usually made her heart race with excitement.

Except now, those same towers made her feel as if a piece of her soul had been ripped brutally from her chest.

She could feel the small silver locket weighing heavily against her chest and suddenly, hot tears stung the corners of her eyes.

She was confused, yet enlightened . . . hurt, yet content . . . and afflicted, yet blissful.

She was in love.

The door sliding gently open caused Hermione to quickly blink away the tears that threatened to spill over. Sniffling, she composed her face and turned toward the door.

Ginny smiled widely at her as she stepped into the room. Silently, she sat down beside Hermione and draped her arm over her friend's shoulder. Hermione tipped her head into Ginny's shoulder and a single tear escaped from her eye.

Ginny held her in silence, allowing the emotions to flow openly. Gently, she ran her hand up and down Hermione's arm.

Sniffling, Hermione sighed shakily.

"It's going to be okay . . . you know that, right?"

Hermione nodded against Ginny's shoulder.

"Good. And I meant what I said . . . you're going to have one kick ass break . . . and I'll be damned if you even have a minute to think about anything but having fun. I promise."

Hermione laughed lightly.

The two fell silent once more. Her head still on Ginny's shoulder, Hermione noiselessly looked out the window toward the towers again and waited patiently for the train to take her away from it all.

*************************************

Ginny did all in her power to keep her promise: Hermione hardly had a minute to breathe—let alone think—she was kept so busy.

Every morning, Ginny roused her early and whisked her down to the kitchen where they helped Mrs. Weasley prepare breakfast. After breakfast, they shooed the boys outside and (easily ignoring Mrs. Weasley's protests) took on the large task of cleaning up. With the quickly approaching holidays, there was always something to clean or prepare.

Once the morning chores were done, Ginny and Hermione would then join the boys outside. With fresh snow and plenty of space, there was always something to do.

They had snowball fights and went sledding.

They played 3-on-3 Quidditch with Harry, Ron, Fred, and George (even though Hermione _hated_ flying).

They took long, leisurely walks amongst gently drifting snow.

They even made a special trip to Diagon Alley for some last minute Christmas shopping.

They laughed.

They talked.

And things slowly began to feel . . . well . . . _normal_ once more.

When the sun would finally begin to dip below the horizon, they would all come back inside—red-faced, smiling, and often out of breath—where they enjoyed a large, hot meal.

Then, they all migrated around the roaring, cozy fire. As a family, they sipped on warm pumpkin juice and butterbeer all the while recounting their days' adventures. They enjoyed each other's company until the fire dwindled to nothing more than dimly lit embers. Only then, did Mrs. Weasley drive them off to bed.

Yet, in their shared room, Hermione and Ginny still did not sleep. Instead, they took turns doing each others' hair and Ginny even showed Hermione some new makeup techniques as they talked late into the night.

They talked about everything and everyone. But they never spoke about _him_. Ginny made sure the subject never came up.

And Ginny was right. She was so busy that she didn't have time to think . . . .

To think about him.

That is, until after they had said their goodnights. Because once the lights were off and Ginny's breathing was heavy and even, only then was Hermione able to open her mind once more and remember.

Remember his eyes.

Remember his face.

Remember his scent and his touch.

Remember his lips against hers . . . against her hair . . . against her skin.

And it was only then that she would fall asleep and join him once again in her dreams.

***********************************

She had no idea how the time passed so quickly.

One minute, they were in the Burrow preparing for the upcoming holidays. The next, the holidays were a thing of the past and they were on a train once more heading back to Hogwarts.

And Hermione had mixed feelings.

On one hand, she was sad to be leaving the Burrow: the familiarity and family—the _normalcy_.

But, on the other, she was excited to see Draco again. It felt like years since she had last spoken to him; that fateful night on the 4th floor corridor by the statue of Bartholomew Branding.

She wondered—with a heavy heart—if their break from one another had made him change his mind. Had he even thought of her? She hadn't received any letters from him . . . but maybe that was on purpose.

Why?

Was it because he wanted to keep their secret safe? Or, did he not want anything to do with her anymore?

Did he still feel for her? Or, had that feeling grown cold? Her chest ached at the thought.

Her stomach dropped to her feet as the train lurched to a stop. The towers once more loomed into her vision. Staring out the window, her palms suddenly began to sweat, her heart pounded loudly in her chest, and she felt slightly nauseous.

Ginny took one look at her friend's pale face. Reaching out, she gripped Hermione's fingers tightly with her own. "It'll be okay," she said with a reassuring squeeze.

Hermione smiled thinly. "Then why do I feel like I'm about to throw up?"

"Everything will work out . . . it just takes baby steps."

"Baby steps . . . ." Hermione echoed under her breath.

"Exactly." Tugging, Ginny pulled Hermione to her feet. Still gripping her hand tightly, she took a step toward the door. "Just one step at a time."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione willed her feet to move and took one step closer to the hallway.

One step closer to Hogwarts . . . .

And one step closer to Draco.

As soon as Hermione reached her dorm, she quickly unpacked her belongings and sat down to scribble a quick letter to Draco. Butterflies exploded in her stomach as she carefully raced across the snow covered grounds to the Owlery. Her fingers shook as she gently tied the note to an owl's leg. Then, looking out the window, she watched as the owl spread its wings and disappeared into the darkening sky.

For a long time she stood—silently watching the sunset change from yellow, to orange, to red, to pink, and finally to grey as it slowly dipped beneath the Western horizon. She stood until her nose and fingers and toes stung from the cold. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she clenched her jaw to stop it from shivering and watched the sky for just a few more seconds. Then, sighing, she finally turned and made her way back to her dormitory.

"There you are."

She had hardly made it through the large, heavy front doors before Ron ran up to her breathless.

Her cheeks were red from the cold and instantly began to prickle in the sudden heat. Looking at Ron in confusion, she slowly began to unwrap the scarf from around her neck. "Excuse me?"

"We've been looking everywhere for you," he stared at her flushed face. "Have you been outside?"

"Yes . . . and _why_ have you been looking everywhere for me?"

"Well, for one thing, you've been gone for hours." A sudden thought came to him and he furrowed his eyebrows. "_What_ were you doing outside? It's freezing out."

Hermione waved an absent minded hand. "Just sending a letter."

Ron looked at her skeptically.

Hermione quickly cleared her throat. "Um . . . and thinking . . . you know, while enjoying the sunset . . . ."

Ron lifted his eyebrows at her. "Riiiight . . . ." Suddenly, he looked uncomfortable. "Um, but yeah . . . for a second thing, it's time to eat."

As if on cue, Hermione's stomach rumbled embarrassingly loud and she blushed lightly. "Thank you."

Ron turned and began to make his way toward the Great Hall.

As she took a step behind him the serenity that she had felt in the Owlery quickly melted away and was replaced once more with nausea.

Draco would be in there.

What if it was awkward? What if things had changed?

Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest and she felt the color drain from her face.

Ron stopped suddenly and looked back at her. "'Mione? Are you okay? You've been acting weird lately."

Hermione swallowed thickly and forced a smile on her face. "I'm fine."

"Alright. Well, you coming?"

Hermione nodded wordlessly.

With one final concerned glance, Ron turned and disappeared through the doors of the Great Hall.

Hermione took a deep breath to calm her nerves before she followed quickly behind Ron.

As she stepped through the doors, she froze in the frame. Students bustled around the Great Hall—laughing and talking about their Holiday breaks.

Quickly, her eyes scanned the crowd until they fell on the Slytherin table. Lingering, she searched each face, looking for one in particular—or at least for his distinguishable hair.

"Hermione!"

Hermione tore her eyes from Slytherin's table at the sound of her name. Ginny stood at the Gryffindor table, waving wildly. A wide smile was stretched across her face.

Hermione forced a smile on her face and waved back before making her way over to the empty seat beside her roommate, across from Ron and Harry. Heavily, she sat down before glancing quickly over her shoulder toward the Slytherin table once more.

"What's wrong?" Ginny's voice was low.

Hermione turned back. "He's not here."

Pretending to stretch, Ginny looked briefly over her shoulder to survey the students at Slytherin's table. Turning back, she shrugged. "Maybe he's not back yet."

Hermione looked glumly at the plate of food in front of her. Picking up her fork, she poked distractedly at her potatoes. "Yeah . . . maybe."

****************************************

But he _was_ back.

And days quickly passed.

Days that he ignored her in classes—if he even showed up at all.

Days that he immersed himself with his Slytherin peers at meals—refusing to meet her lingering gaze.

Days without responses to her letters.

Every night—with her heart growing heavier—Hermione wrote another letter. Until, after a solid week without a response, she signed the last one. A solitary tear fell from her eye and stained the page as she wrote goodbye.

She was determined to move on with her life. To forget everything that had happened over the last term. And, for a few days, it was easy, even if her heart throbbed painfully every time she saw him.

But then, she began to think again.

She deserved an explanation—it was the least he could do. To offer an explanation as to _why_ his feelings had changed . . . _why_ he refused to answer her letters . . . and _why_ he was now blatantly ignoring her.

She wanted to speak with him.

No, she _needed_ to speak with him.

And she was going to.

A light knocking shattered her thoughts. Familiar raven black hair peeked from behind the door.

"Hungry?"

Hermione smiled widely at Harry. "Famished."

It was a lie, and she knew it . . . but she was hungry for one thing.

She was hungry for answers.

And she wasn't going to take "no" for an answer.

Standing, she quickly crossed the room and followed Harry. She felt confident as she descended the stairs to the Common Room and joined Ron and Ginny. But after they left the safety of Gryffindor Tower—and with each flight of stairs—her confidence began to switch to nerves and nausea.

What would she say to him?

What if he didn't want to talk to her?

What if she cried?

She already felt shameful at her last thought. Would she be able to stay strong? She wasn't able to answer that question, though, because before she knew it, the doors to the Great Hall loomed in front of her.

Immediately, her mouth went dry.

She could visualize the setting: students littering every square inch—laughing and talking. And directly in the middle of them all . . . the blonde-haired Prince of Slytherin.

Hermione's hands shook slightly as she pushed the doors open. Most of the students were already eating and black robes packed the space, their conversations creating a loud, incomprehensible murmur.

Quickly, Hermione's eyes began to scan the crowd. She needed to find him—and to keep her eye on him . . . to make sure that he didn't get away. But amidst everyone, she wasn't able to locate him.

She blocked the doorway, determined to pinpoint his location before she sat down.

"Move it, freaks."

Somebody shouldered past Hermione—hard.

Narrowing her eyes, she turned to glare, but immediately felt her heart plummet to her stomach as she took in the group of Slytherins that sauntered past her into the Great Hall.

The group of Slytherins that surrounded platinum hair.

Laughing and talking, they pushed past Hermione and her friends—their conversations melting together into an indistinguishable mess.

Enrapt by the sight of Draco, Hermione stared dazedly after them, unable to move. Until suddenly, a portion of their conversation floated above the rest and reached her ears:

". . . stupid bushy-haired know-it-all . . . ."

Hermione watched in horror as Draco's mouth formed the words. At first—as his minions laughed callously—her stomach twisted into a painful knot and her chest ached dully. But, as she watched the corners of Draco's mouth turn upward into a cruel smile, fire ignited in her chest.

She felt anger's heat spread through her veins like wildfire. Breathing heavily, she watched as Draco and his horde of Housemates took their places at the head of Slytherin's table.

Indisputable rage fueled her movements.

Immediately, Hermione began a heated beeline toward them.

"Whoa, 'Mione!" Harry's hand quickly reached out and gripped her arm. "Just let it go."

Wildly, Hermione spun and tore from his grasp. Her eyes almost emitted sparks as she thrust her finger in his face. "No . . . ."

At her tone, Harry dropped his hand back to his side and stared at her in shock, his mouth slightly agape.

Hermione's finger was shaking as she stared down each and every one of her friends. When nobody put up a fight, she curled her finger into her fist, turned—her robes swirling angrily—and began toward Draco again.

Wordlessly, her friends watched her retreating back.

Turning his head, Harry briefly looked at Ron and then Ginny in confusion before hastily stepping forward. Ron and Ginny quickly followed suit, and together—silently—they remained only a few steps behind their friend.

Conversations dimmed significantly as the group of Gryffindors made the long, pointed walk across the Great Hall.

Hermione was fully aware that all eyes were on her, but she didn't care. All she cared about were the icy grey eyes that glanced at her from under heavy eyelashes as their owner pretended not to take notice of her.

As she walked markedly forward, her vision tunneled around her target. With narrowed eyes, she stared at Draco's thin face . . . his pointy nose . . . his pale complexion . . . and her anger grew. She watched as he pretended to be immersed in a conversation with Goyle—who sat to his right. She watched as Crabbe—to his left—nudged him harshly with his elbow, his eyes wide as he stared at her. And she watched as Draco turned his face—ever so indifferently.

His cold eyes bore into her as she stopped directly across the table from him. Setting her jaw, she stood angrily, her hands on her hips.

"If you have something to say, you could at least have the audacity to say it to my face."

Draco scoffed and leaned back in his chair. "And what do you feel that I have to say to _you_?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You know _exactly _what I'm talking about."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Maybe you should check your own _audacity_ for coming over here and speaking to me." He threw the word back at her scornfully.

"Why are you doing this?" Hermione's voice dropped slightly.

"Doing what?" His voice was cold as he crossed his arms tightly across his chest.

"Why can't you just talk to me?"

"I don't speak to Mudbloods."

A collective gasp rose from the tables in the Great Hall.

Licking her lips, Hermione nodded slowly. "So, this is the way it's going to be now?"

Draco shrugged his thin shoulders. "I guess."

"And you're not even going to offer any sort of explanation? You at least owe me that."

Draco's eyes narrowed and his voice grew cold. "I owe you shit."

Around the Slytherin table, mouths fell open as a chorus of _Ooohhs_ sounded.

Hermione felt hot tears sting the corners of her eyes. "You've changed." It was statement filled with hurt.

"Yeah . . . funny how space allows a mind to clear."

"I can't believe you . . ."

"Yeah, well, deal with it."

"I thought you were different."

"Welcome to the club. . . ." Uncrossing his arms, he leaned forward—his forearms resting on the table. "But you know . . . this little _fascination_ with me? It's getting to be a bit much. Actually, I'd say it's borderline pathetic."

Hermione shook her head as she felt her face flush hot. Immediately, her mouth went dry . . . she didn't like where this conversation was going.

"But, it makes sense . . . a pathetic obsession for a pathetic Mudblood. It's fitting."

Hermione couldn't find words. Tears rimmed her eyes, threatening dangerously to fall.

Her friends stood behind her, their mouths agape. Silence overtook the Great Hall as students turned toward the ongoing altercation. A few Gryffindors stood at their table, anger covering their faces.

Draco stared harshly into Hermione's eyes, watching as the tears formed. Taunting, his voice dropped to a heartless whisper. "C'mon, cry . . . I've always wanted to see if your tears were made of mud."

Immediately, Neville, Seamus, and Dean pushed themselves from their seats and quickly crossed the short distance to stand guard behind Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

Hermione inhaled sharply, her anger rekindling. Refusing to cry, she swallowed thickly and finally found words:

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

Her words had a heated bite, and immediately, all remaining noise around the Great Hall died.

Setting his jaw, Draco suddenly grew very serious as ice glazed over his silver orbs. Smoothly, he pushed himself to his feet as he quietly clicked his tongue. "Oh, no . . . you already did that." A twisted smile contorted his features.

Mouths around the Great Hall dropped open and the whispering began again. Laughing, Crabbe and Goyle high-fived one another behind Draco.

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face.

Continuing, he dropped his voice sarcastically. "Or, don't you remember?"

The whispering vanished. It was painfully quiet as the Hogwarts students listened intently for her answer.

Hermione felt her heart drumming against her ribcage. She felt light-headed.

Leaning his hands on the table, he bent toward her. "Did you like when I made you cum?" He spoke in an exaggerated whisper, his words dripping with malice.

Hermione physically stepped back as if she had been slapped across the face.

"I'll kill you!"

The silence was shattered as Ron's voice boomed. It echoed eerily around the silent Hall.

He lunged forward.

Crabbe and Goyle were instantly on their feet, attempting to press themselves in front of Draco.

Quickly, Harry and Neville grabbed Ron by the arms and held him from launching over the table at Draco. Ron pulled at his restraints, his blue eyes glowing with fire. Seamus reached out and gripped him tightly around the chest.

Draco held out a composed arm and blocked Crabbe and Goyle. "You better put a leash on your Weasel."

Ron growled menacingly.

The tears that were rimming Hermione's eyes spilled over before she could stop them.

She stared at him, betrayal radiating off of her face. Slowly, she shook her head. "When did you get so cruel?" Her voice was hardly a whisper.

Draco straightened. "When did you think I wasn't?"

"Do I mean nothing to you?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing more than a piece of ass."

Hermione gasped. "You don't mean that . . . ."

"Sure, I do . . . just a conquest . . . another notch in the bedpost. And to tell you the truth, you were a lousy lay."

Ron snarled loudly and tried to lunge at Draco once more.

Tears fell freely from Hermione's eyes. She felt the heat of watching eyes and suddenly, she felt trapped.

Draco stared at her—his eyes narrowed and scornful. Silently, he challenged her to retort.

She stared back at him—back at the face that she had fallen in love with. His once loving eyes were cold and emotionless. She searched them for any sign of love—of passion, but she saw none.

Traitorously her chin trembled. "I hate you, Draco Malfoy."

There was a flash in his eyes—briefly . . . only momentarily—but then it was gone, and his face once more was covered in his cruel mask.

Lightly, he snorted. "I'll add you to the list."

And with those words, Hermione finally realized something: He was his father . . . he was a Malfoy . . . and Ginny was right.

With trembling fingers, Hermione found the chain around her neck. With a violent tug, it snapped, and she threw it hatefully onto the table in front of Draco.

She didn't wait for his reaction. Instead, she turned,—tears blurring her vision—violently pushed her way through her friends, and ran from the Great Hall.

As she ran through the large doors, her peers watched her exit in stunned silence has they tried to figure out what had just happened.

**********************************

"But, it's _Draco Malfoy_!!" Ron protested loudly.

Hours had passed since the confrontation in the Great Hall and Ron was still fired up, even in front of the serene fire in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Ron, I don't really care _who_ it is . . . if he made Hermione happy—for whatever odd reason—then I can accept that." Harry's voice was soft, soothing.

"But, he didn't make her happy!!" Ron was yelling now. "Look what he did to her today." He stood angrily and began to pace. "I'm going to kill him for that!"

"He may not have made her happy _today_, but think of how happy she's been lately. He was a part of that, because she saw something in him."

Ron was grumbling under his breath now. "I don't know _what_. He's nothing more than a slime ball and—"

He cut off quickly as Ginny descended the stairs from the girls' dormitories.

Harry stood as she entered the room. "How is she?"

"Sleeping,—thank God. I didn't know that any one person could cry that much."

". . . kill him . . ." Muttering under his breath, Ron angrily resumed his pacing.

Harry shook his head at his friend, but ignored him. "Did she say anything?"

Ginny sat down heavily. "Unless you count sobbing uncontrollably as 'saying something,' then . . . no."

"I can't believe she blew us off for _Malfoy_ . . . ." Ron's grumbling was steadily growing.

"Hey!" Harry's voice was sharp. "We are not going to dwell on this anymore. I don't care about any reasoning . . . or motive . . . or whatever. I am here for _Hermione_ now, and nothing else. And I suggest you do the same thing. You will _not _bring this up when she is around, so I suggest you start practicing now."

Ron stopped pacing. "But . . . ."

Harry waved an impatient hand. "No buts. Hermione needs us right now. She needs us more than ever. We need to be better friends—more _supportive_ friends—than we were all last term. Can you do that?"

Ron sat down crossly. "Yeah . . . ."

"You promise?"

Ron nodded.

"And do you promise to forget about Malfoy, unless Hermione brings him up first?"

Ron nodded sulkily.

"That means no fights . . . no conversations . . . no nothing." Harry ticked them off on his fingers.

"I get it, alright!" Ron's voice rose slightly.

"Alright." Harry nodded, satisfied. "We're going to help her get through this . . . nobody leaves her side, agreed?"

Ron and Ginny nodded.

****************************************

The term flew by, and her friends did not break their promise—not even once. They had become extremely protective of her, and never let her out of their sight. In fact, all of Gryffindor had. They quickly became her own personal shadows—her chaperons.

Even Ron kept his promise. Although heglared at Malfoy whenever he saw him, he refused the urge to fight, although ever fiber of his being screamed at him to.

It was extreme—and any sane person would have gone mad after only a few days. But, Hermione had changed: Her spirit was broken.

So—defeated—she allowed them to do it, although she thought it was pointless and stupid for them to waste all of their time by her side—not that there was much for them to stay by her side for. Her schedule now consisted of four things: Classes, meals, studying, and sleeping. And she spent the majority of her time accomplishing the latter of the four.

She still dreamt of him—yet as the term passed, they occurred more infrequently.

She still cried—but now the tears only came in the seclusion of her room.

She still hurt every single time she saw or thought of him—but she was slowly beginning to build a mask . . . a mask to cover the insufferable pain.

But all in all, she hid it, even though she was nothing more than an empty shell.

Because a piece of her had died.

And slowly, she tried to get her life back to normal: Even though deep down, she knew that she would never be normal again.

Each day passed like the last. With the help of her friends, she got used to living in a tunnel—a tunnel that protected her from anything that would remind her of him. And as the days blurred together, she recollected nothing but her studies.

So, it came to no surprise to her when the term came screeching to an end.

Normally, she would have felt sadness when it was time to leave Hogwart's grounds for the summer holiday, but as her belongings were once more packed away in her trunk, and as she stared out the window of the train at the distant towers, she actually felt some relief.

Perhaps, with space, she could finally put all of this behind her.

The train lurched forward, taking her away from the painful memories. Harry, Ron, and Ginny sat laughing, but she ignored them. Leaning her head against the seat, she watched as the towers slowly receded. When they had finally vanished, she took a deep breath and waited for the painful ache in her chest to go away.

But it didn't.

Her memories of Draco—the good and the bad—were now even more defined in her head. She could feel tears—tears that she thought she had no more of—stinging at her eyes.

Wordlessly, she stood and took a step toward the door of the compartment.

"Where are you going?" Harry's voice was soft.

"Out."

Ginny quickly stood. "I'll go with you."

Hermione held a hand up, pleading. "Please . . . I just need to be by myself for a second."

"But . . . ."

Hermione's eyes were glistening. "Please . . . ."

Silently, Ginny sat back down.

Hermione gave her half a smile before turning and walking out of the compartment.

The hallway of the train was filled with students milling around. Maneuvering through the bodies and trolleys filled with candies, Hermione aimlessly made her way toward the back of the train.

She was lost in emotions and memories, and simply let her feet take her somewhere.

Without realization, she found herself in the caboose at the door that opened to the outside platform. She had never been out there before, but some fresh air sounded good. Silently, she pushed the door open and stepped out onto the platform.

The cool air hit her face and she inhaled deeply, her eyes closed. Momentarily, she relished in the crispness and of the spring day before slowly opening her eyes.

And her stomach twisted painfully.

Black robes covered hunched shoulders.

The owner of those shoulders was leaning heavily on the railing and the head on those shoulders was bowed deeply toward the tracks—the head that was covered in platinum blonde hair.

Involuntarily, Hermione inhaled. Quickly, she tried to flee, but it was too late.

Draco's head snapped up toward her, and instantly, his face paled.

Moments passed as they merely stared at each other—each one a loss for words.

Finally, Hermione broke their gaze and turned to leave.

"Please stay . . . ."

She froze in place, a mix of emotions running through her veins. She was hurt, confused, angry, skeptical, and excited, all at the same time. Yet, even with all of those emotions, something more held her in place—something she quite couldn't put her finger on.

Carefully, she turned back toward him. Keeping the emotions from her face, she stared at him.

Draco looked pained. Quietly, he cleared his throat. "Look, I owe you an explanation . . . ."

"So _now _I deserve an explanation?" Hermione's voice was thick, but she kept it even.

Ashamedly, Draco looked down at the ground and when he spoke, his voice cracked with emotion. "Look, my dad found your letters, okay? He threatened to disown me. I had to break it off with you . . . there was no other way."

Suddenly, it all made sense . . . .

But anger's fire still burned in her chest. And everything she had been holding back—all of the emotion, all of the hurt, all of the questions—came rushing out.

"So, you had to do it like that? In front of the whole school?"

Draco looked trapped. "You caught me off guard."

"Why did you have to be so cruel? You didn't have to say those things."

"Yes, I did."

"_Why_?"

"I had to break your heart."

"What?!"

Draco lifted his head and looked her in the eyes. "You wouldn't have been able to leave if I didn't say those things. I needed you to hate me . . . so you could forget about me."

Hermione shook her head. "Yes, I could have. If you would have just explained it to me, I would have understood. I would have worked it out with you."

But even as she said the words, she knew he was right. He had to break her heart, because otherwise she would have fought for him. Fought for him like only a person in love would.

"Look, Hermione . . . you said it the best: We're from two very separate Worlds. I was blind to have said that it didn't matter. Or that I could give up my World for you . . . because when that became the only option, I wasn't able to."

Hermione's heart twisted painfully in her chest.

Draco reached out and laid his hand gently on her arm.

She pulled back as if she had been burned. "Don't touch me."

Draco recoiled. "I deserve that. And I deserve to be hated . . . but just know that I don't hate _you_. And in another world . . . another time . . . ."

Hermione looked away from him, disloyal tears brimming in her eyes. She wanted to believe him . . . and in a sense—for reasons unknown—she did.

They just lived in two _very _separate Worlds.

"If things ever change . . . ."

Hermione shook her head. "They won't."

Swallowing, Draco nodded slowly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for a lot of things. I'm sorry for what I said. I'm sorry that I can't change the situation. And I'm sorry for the pain you're feeling. But, I'm not sorry that I fell in love with you."

Hermione's chest tightened. Her eyes wet, she looked up and stared Draco in the face.

Carefully, he searched her face with his light orbs. They glistened brightly with unshed tears. "If there was any way . . . ."

Hermione nodded. "I know."

Slowly, he reached out and when Hermione didn't flinch, he gently cupped her cheek in his hand. Lightly, he ran his thumb over her jaw.

Hermione closed her eyes at his touch. "I love you too, Draco."

Draco's thumb ceased. Slowly, he leaned forward and placed his lips gently against Hermione's forehead. He lingered momentarily before pulling back.

Quietly, he dropped his hand to his side. "Goodbye, Hermione." His words were a whisper.

She opened her eyes and looked into his face. She was unable to say the words back.

Draco waited only a moment, before nodding once. In one fluid motion, he turned and left.

Hermione watched the black hem of his robes disappear through the door before whispering into the silence: "Goodbye."

THE END

_A/N: There it is! We finally made it. I know that a lot of you were pulling for a happy ending, but after doing a lot of thinking (as well as rewriting), this way just developed easier. I think that it stayed more true to the characters (and the differences in their lives). But, don't worry, I promise to get some more stuff with happy endings! So please, keep your eyes open for that. Also, _please_ review!! Let me know what you think! I hope you liked it, and thank you all SO much for the patience, support, and encouragement. I hope you all have a wonderful (and __SAFE__) Holiday season!! *~*JadedDraon4*~*_


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